Because He Was Alone
by BlackBandit111
Summary: AU. Peter Parker is orphaned during the Battle of Manhattan after Aunt May is killed in an accident. Steve Rogers can't fathom the reason he could possibly want to help this kid, who he has never met, but guilt and want spir him to make a choice that will change both he- and 16 year old Peter Parker's lives- forever. SUPERFAMILY- ish. Can/cannot be slash.
1. Alone

_**Hello there, Avengers fandom! Disclaimer: Only own plotline and strong desire to write Superfamily! Enjoy the chapter!**_

* * *

Peter Parker was alone.

It was a fact, just like the sky being blue and the world going around the sun. Peter Parker was alone on April 18th. 12:57 P.M., on a Friday, 2014. He was sixteen years old, he was just about to graduate his junior year of high school, and his aunt was dead.

**…**

Granted, she had been dead for a while before he had realized. Peter Parker was not an oblivious young man- things relevant to his life rarely escaped his attention- but he had been busy, and she had died, and he hadn't realized until that night when he went home, seven or eight hours after it happened.

Dinner hadn't been cooking.

It was such a small thing. Just dinner. Something people take for granted every single day. A ready meal on the table.

The house had been dark, the casserole untouched, the oven cold, his aunt dead.

But Peter hadn't noticed before then. He had been busy, out defending citizens from an alien invasion. Out saving lives and children and people from faltering buildings and murderous space-goers.

But he hadn't saved her. He wasn't paying attention.

_Why wasn't he paying attention?_

While he had been prancing about punching aliens and web slinging away, mouthing off this and that and generally enjoying himself despite the situation, his Aunt May had been frightened, possibly alone, cashing in a check at the bank. It was the only day during the week she ever ran errands, her work keeping her from doing so any other day.

He should have done it instead.

She had asked him, too. Twice. It should've been him.

But it wasn't.

And now his aunt was dead and he was alone.

People had been poking and prodding at him for hours now, but he couldn't bring himself to care much. He had remained sat on the bed they had provided him, his hands limp in his lap since the time he had lowered himself down, and he wasn't planning on moving.

There was a soft knock at the door, and before Peter could force himself to speak, it opened.

"Hey," Brady said quietly. The twelve year old he shared a room with now. In the home. Peter felt cold. "Dinner's ready, and Kim wants to know if you're coming down."

Kim was the foster mother had been assigned to- at least until he came of age. His house couldn't legally be sold, as it was in the Parker name, and it was only when Peter was a legal adult- in the next couple of years- that he could do what he liked with it. Until then, it had been reclaimed and all his non-essential belongings were being put in storage.

Robotically, Peter shook his head.

Brady sighed but let it drop, grimacing and closing the door with a soft click. Too wise for his age.

Even though he shared a room in a house full of eight other people, Peter was alone.

...

"We've been over this, Tony," Steve said, exasperated.

"But_ why?!"_ Tony Stark whined, spilling a bit of his drink as his movements broadened.

Steve Rogers rolled his eyes. "Because I like watching the news, and you can handle a bit of reality every now and then. Deflates some of your ego." He clicked the volume up a few notches, making it louder than necessary and allowing himself a smirk as Tony groaned and flopped face first onto the couch, somehow keeping his drink steady.

"Why isn't life _fair?!"_ He asked the air, and Steve tried to hide his snickers as he lowered the volume appropriately. Even if he liked taunting the billionaire, he actually wasn't the biggest fan of technology yet. The news was something simple and informative, and Steve found it enlightening.

"Because you're an annoyingly grown man who often acts like a five year old." Steve said smartly, narrowing his eyes at the television.

Tony scoffed, and decided to ignore his friend, still addressing the air. "You know, I am the victim here..."

Steve's brows furrowed, his eyes flickering across the screen.

"Tony," he muttered, leaning forward as his hands clenched around the arms of his chair, not looking away from the news. Tony ignored him.

"-And I can't believe the treatment, like I'm just some shadow of a billionaire they can use because he's got money and a supersuit-"

"Tony," Steve called louder, eyes wide. "TONY!"

Tony stuttered, sitting up abruptly. Annoyance flitted across his face. "What could you possibly want, Icecube? I know you have no life, but that doesn't mean you can borrow my money to go out and buy one-"

"No," Steve said, and his tone was sharp. Tony's annoyance fell and was replaced instantly by inquisition.

"What?"

"Listen to this," Steve continued, disregarding Tony completely and clicking up the volume again. There was a reporter on the scene, a woman called Katerine Bathes, standing just in front of what looked like the remains of a collapsed building.

"...After clearing away the wreckage once known as Manhattan Bank, a heart stopping discovery orphans sixteen year old Peter Parker, who had reported his aunt, May Parker, missing on Wednesday, April 16th. The fifty seven year old woman was running an errand while her nephew, Peter, was at a friend's house when the invasion occurred. Peter, with no further living relatives, has been placed into foster care."

There was a pause.

"This is merely one amongst many broken families, but we cannot thank our heroes more for preventing damage that could have been irreplaceable. Back to you, Rick."

Tony blinked, clearing his throat. Steve sat back and rested his chin on his hand, his elbow bent. "Yes, that's terribly sad, but question: Why are we even watching the news, anyway? Who even wants to watch the "casualties" special anyway? This is exactly my point, I mean-"

Steve levelled the playboy with a single look.

Tony went silent for a few moments. "...So what about _this_ particular story got to you, Capsicle?"

Steve sighed, running a hand over his face, looking grim. "Because," he said. "Manhattan Bank is the one building we skipped over, remember? On one of the first streets evacuated. We skipped it. We didn't check inside."

Tony inhaled sharply, exhaling slowly. "We thought it was empty."

There was a tense silence for a few moments, the only sound the low hum of the television in the background. Tony broke it.

"So what do you want to do? There's nothing we can do."

Steve sighed again, running a hand through his hair. "He's an orphan because of us!"

Tony whirled, glaring at his friend. "No, Boy Scout, he's an orphan because a god who _isn't meant to exist_ in a dimension _not meant to be real_ summoned a whole fucking _alien army_, that's why," He snapped. "But-but if you want to- want to-" He gestured wildly, "_adopt_ him, the by all means, go ahead! I'm not stopping you! Yeah, you can adopt him and deal with a teenage boy and the problems that come with him! I think that's a _wonderful_ idea; we should even ask the whole freaking _team_ to adopt newly orphaned children, because that's _the right thing to do!"_

Tony sucked in a few deep breaths.

Steve blinked, turning back to the TV, but the story was gone; they had moved on. He looked back at Tony, who stared at him with pursed lips and crossed arms.

Silence.

A raised eyebrow.

Silence.

A small shake of the head.

Silence.

Then:

"ROGERS DON'T EVEN DARE!"

"STARK HE'S ALL ALONE HOW WOULD YOU FEEL?!"

Simultaneously, they both began to scream at each other, arms thrown out and both men on their feet.

"YOU CAN'T CARE FOR A CHILD-"

"HE'S NOT A CHILD HE'S A YOUNG ADULT-"

"TOO OLD FOR A KID-"

"ONE YEAR, MY GOD-"

"SEVENTY YEARS, DON'T KNOW A THING ABOUT KIDS-"

Neither man heard the elevator ding nor saw Bruce Banner stare at them, assess the situation, sigh and turn back around, leaving the way he came. Neither man heard the small clatter of a vent cover falling to the floor nor saw the lithe figure that landed expertly to the ground.

And neither man expected the shouting that interrupted them.

"WHAT ARE YOU TWO, CHILDREN? SHUT UP!"

Abruptly, the noise stopped, Steve and Tony startled into submission. Natasha Romanoff stood planted firmly in front of them both, hands on her hips and face set determinedly into a scowl.

"What in the world could you two be arguing about now? Didn't you throw tantrums about ten minutes ago?" She clenched her teeth, running both hands through her hair before crossing her arms and silently glaring at them, a fire alight in her eyes.

She laid a hand on her gun, which was holstered at her hip, sending each of them a dark look. Then, wordlessly, she turned towards the elevator, the slap of her heels on the hardwood floor all too loud in the suddenly silent floor.

A chuckle broke the mood, and Steve and Tony whipped around to stare at one Clint Barton, who had his arms crossed and was leaning languidly against a wall. "The fact that she's got more brain cells than both of you put together is amusing to me."

He turned and strode away, and didn't respond to the calls of:

"THAT'S BELOW THE BELT, KATNISS!"

* * *

**_Okay, so this is my FIRST TIME posting in the Avengers fandom. Are they all in character? Sassy enough? I swear, I'm making comebacks to my comebacks, it's the strangest thing in the world...Thank you for reading and please, leave me a comment on your thoughts! _****  
**


	2. Let's Wow This Parker Kid

_**Alright, my friendly neighborhood fanfictioners! Here is the next installment of Because He Was Alone! Thank you for all the feedback, the favorites, follows, and reviews. I appreciate it all. Guest: Your review really kick started me here, so thanks for that! This story is updated every Friday- Saturday. Without further ado, onto the story!**_

* * *

Peter stared up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the light snoring coming from the bed next to him. It was unsettling- his room had always been silent, and he had always taken comfort from the fact that his spider senses could pick up any foreign people in his room, as he was always alone. Now he didn't know if the Spidey Sense beaming through his brain was just tiredness, awareness of the person sleeping beside him, or actual danger.

He knew that he was in a tough spot. Everyone who ever adopted kids wanted the younger ones, the ones they could dote on and love and carry around and be adored by. They obviously didn't want the older teenagers, the moody ones, the scarred ones. The alone ones.

Especially the alone ones, because they tended to need more attention.

The room suddenly felt terribly constricting, like he was being choked. Gasping, he sat up to give himself a better opportunity to breathe, but his lungs just seemed to clench further, like the very air was poisonous. Heat pooled around him and a flush rose to his cheeks; he had to get away, out, gone, he couldn't be here, not anymore, not for another moment-

Stripping and trying to forget the reason he still had on his suit, he tiptoed to the windows, opening one slowly and letting in the cool summer breeze. Inhaling a little easier but still feeling terribly trapped, he clambered out the window, pulling his mask over his head. He took the skies, the wind rushing around him, his body only a dot in the ethereal light of the moon.

He didn't look back and managed a smile for the first time in three days. This was freedom. This felt like escape from his problems. Not another house, not another family, not another room. Flying. Free.

Although he did love to help people, he decided against crime fighting tonight. He could feel the heart weariness as it crept up on him and the exhaustion was infecting his very bones, making them slightly heavy- heavier than they should have been when web slinging, that was for sure.

He just...couldn't tonight. He couldn't do it. He just needed to run away for a little while, or at least have the feeling of running. Put his problems behind him for now. Hakuna Matata.

He let out a halfhearted "Yeehaa", but abandoned it as soon as it had passed his lips. It had been uttered so softly, it didn't even manage to remain formed long enough to reach the bustle of the streets below. It was around twelve A.M., but New York City didn't have the name "the city that never sleeps" for nothing.

He was back in his room around three A.M. with windswept hair and a surprising amount of optimism, considering the circumstances. He slept and dreamt of flying through skies dotted with lights from windows that could be mistaken for stars, a pale moon, and returning to a warm home, his aunt waiting for him inside.

**...**

"What if someone else wants him?!" Tony demanded, and Steve growled.

_"No one_ will want him, Stark," Steve ground out, "everyone wants a younger child and no one wants to deal with a teenager. He will be stuck in that house, alone, living with the ghost of his aunt in his head unless he gets proper attention-"

"Which someone else can provide, but not you," Tony argued. "You're only just learning how the hell to work a cellphone, Cap-"

"Exactly me!" Steve exclaimed. "Tony, no one will know what to do, how to act- and before you start, I'm not saying I will; I'm saying I'm willing to try. Most people will think he's- God, I don't know- scarred or defective or something! Most people will pass him up, and he won't heal right, Tony. You remember what it's like losing a-a parent, it's-"

"Alright, Capsicle, let's get one thing straight," Tony said bluntly. "I didn't lose a parent, I lost a boss. I didn't have anyone there for me and I had to run a company. Look how I turned out!"

Steve deadpanned, "exactly. That's why he needs our help. Stark, you have the space. You have the food, the money, the transportation. All you'd have to do is house him. And you may just learn to like him."

Tony rolled his eyes, huffing. "You know what, fine. You want a kid to watch out for and look after and talk to even though he's only got to go through "foster hell" for a year, fine. Go ahead. Just tell the team. I don't care. I can make up a floor for him."

Steve smiled. "Thank you, Tony."

Tony didn't answer.

**...**

Steve couldn't possibly tell someone why he wanted to adopt Peter Parker so badly, only that his gut was telling him that it was the right thing to do.

Sure, he did have a moral compass about as strict as the Constitution, and the guilt was certainly eating away at his soul. If he had just taken the time to check that one damn building…just two seconds was all it would have taken, only two out of their way...and he'd orphaned someone in that one split second where he and Tony decided they _didn't have time to be sure…_

Steve didn't know how he'd look young Peter Parker in the eye and tell him that he was responsible for May Parker's death. He didn't have one clue how to handle this sort of thing. He only knew that the pain of losing someone akin to a parent was like a black hole in your soul, and that it would eat away at you.

Bucky had saved him. Steve had, as a result, saved his country.

And goddammit it all if Steve Rogers couldn't save Peter, too.

**...**

"I'm sorry," Natasha said slowly, "you want to do what?"

Steve sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Adopt Peter Parker," he repeated. "He lost his aunt and it's all my fault and I can't just leave him alone in that foster house. Obviously he's fine there, but he's probably only going to stay for a year and he can't- just _can't- _get the help he needs in a foster house with probably ten other kids that need attention. He's just lost someone huge in his life and he has no other living relatives and God Natasha, I know what that's like."

Natasha's eyes narrowed, and she gazed into his face, head cocked to the side as if she'd never seen anything like him before. After a few moments, she nodded. "Okay."

Steve blinked. "Uh, really?"

Natasha rolled her eyes, tisking. "Well, obviously you're going to take care of him," she said, and the corners of her lips turned up into a slight smile. "You care so much about him already, and you don't even know him."

Steve smiled a little. "I do know him," he said. "Because he's just like I was."

He had consulted Natasha aside from everyone else because he knew she'd tell it to him straight, whether he wanted to hear it or not. The fact that she had so easily agreed only made Steve believe he was doing the right thing, getting Peter away and helping him. He didn't have a clue as to how to parent, but he sure as hell knew how to deal with scars.

Clint had grinned, saying something along the lines of, "well, I'm off to have fun in the air-ducts" when he left, and Bruce had smiled that gentle smile of his, wiping his glasses.

Steve took a deep breath, rolling over in bed and trying to find another comfortable position. His team was alright with it. Tony had grudgingly agreed. He'd get Peter Parker out of that foster house by the end of the week.

He ignored the churn of nervousness in his gut, glancing at the clock. Three A.M.. The promise of another day dawning on the horizon, Steve closed his eyes.

**...**

It wasn't that Tony Stark didn't like children. Well, okay, he _didn't_ like children, but that was completely besides the point. The _point_ was that he didn't want a kid messing with his stuff, even if the kid was sixteen. God, he remembered sixteen.

Nope.

Not a chance; not this bachelor, not this tower.

No way.

And then Steve went and pulled the 'father' card on him, and, well, that didn't help change Tony's opinion, either. What did anyone in this place know about taking care of a child? Nothing. They knew _nothing_. They didn't even know what this kid looked like, for Christ's sake!

Steve didn't know how to take care of a kid, Tony sure as hell wasn't a good influence, only the _gods_ knew what Clint would do to the poor guy when he arrived, Natasha was a flipping secret agent and cleaned her guns at _breakfast_, Thor often visited and no matter how many times they reassured him always had a panic attack over the _microwave_, and they had a jolly green giant in their basement.

Nope.

But then, Steve did begin making some good points. Tony knew what it was like to lose a...somewhat parental figure. It was a bad blow. Of course, at that point he had been older than sixteen and legally an adult, and so had taken over his father's company and association, but it was almost the same. He hadn't been placed in foster care, sure, and had become primary possessor of billions of dollars in weaponry overnight, but…

Off track. Right.

Steve did make a few solid points, Tony gave him that. But there were just too many _ifs_ and _whens_ and _buts_ for this to work out. They were superheroes. What _they_ did, defending the world, was _dangerous_. And then they were going to take a kid and stick him in the middle of that? A perfectly ordinary kid, and just launch him into a world of nightmares?

Now, granted, Tony Stark always did have a thing for dramatics, but this was going too far. What about when they were called away on missions? What about when another threat arose and decided to attack anyone close to them? What if Avengers Tower (which was the new name for Stark Tower, seeing as all the other letters conveniently shorted out and all was left was the 'A' in 'Stark') was targeted again and this Parker kid was inside?

Too many _whens, ifs_ and _buts_.

But then Steve had gotten emotional and began looking a little teary eyed, and talked about being alone, and, well…

What the hell. Tony Stark liked a challenge.

"JARVIS?"

_"Yes, Sir?"_

"Prepare a floor; how about...floor nine?"

_"Yes, Sir. Would you like me to activate one of the guest rooms and put it on permanent line?"_

"Sure, go ahead. And JARVIS?"

_"Yes, Sir?"_

Tony smirked. "Let's _wow_ this Parker kid."

* * *

**_Would it be okay if I let George Stacy LIVE instead of die in this fanfic? I like him too much to make him dead, but can understand the reasoning behind wanting to keep him deceased. If you want to know the details, leave me a comment and thanks for reading! *I understand these chapters are a little slow but I promise we're getting there!*_**


	3. A Bit of Yoga

**_Here we are, my friends! Chapter three. Hope you enjoy and Disclaimer: Don't own it...wish I did, but...I don't..._**

**_ArianandXaia: Sorry! Completely forget to mention- THIS IS TASM UNIVERSE. I took a chance and took a bit from the things that I like about Spectacular Spider-Man and I bit from Ultimate comics, like George not dying (Spectacular) and a couple villains and references from Ultimate (STEVE BEING A SASSY BADASS...). So...a bit of a mash up, but nothing LIFE ALTERING that will change the whole characterization of Peter Parker in TASM. :)_**

* * *

Peter opened his eyes and forgot.

For a few blissful seconds, he couldn't remember a thing about his life. He woke up and believed he was waking up in the same bed in the same room in the same house as he had been for the last ten years, with Aunt May and Uncle Ben downstairs cooking breakfast and reading the paper.

He'd even begun planning his day. He'd go to school, try to get up the courage to talk to Gwen and ultimately fail (but this was to be expected), he'd come home, help Uncle Ben paint the kitchen, eat dinner and do homework with probably some computer games in-between.

But then Peter remembered.

He stared up at the foreign ceiling without the cracks, noticed the mattress with too many creases and springs. Noticed the strangely bare walls and the hardwood floor and the lack of personality in the room.

And he remembered.

He lay still in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, fisting in the covers, trying to muffle the sound of his crying. He sucked in a breath and tears tumbled from his eyelashes. He could feel them pooling on the pillow on either side of his head, but he just didn't care.

He curled up under his covers, taking a few deep breaths and trying to compose himself. God, he shared this room- where was Brady?

The bed was empty but unmade, and Peter figured that it was a little late in the morning- Brady was probably at breakfast.

_Now isn't the time, Parker,_ he snarled at himself, viciously wiping his eyes with the heels of his hands, not now. Get it together. _Who are you? Not some defenseless pathetic sap. Pull it together._

And even though it hurt his heart, Peter rose.

**...**

"Okay," Tony said, handing Steve the manilla file folder that he had made up just an hour ago, "here's everything I could find on the Parker kid- name, address, family history. The foster home he's in is in paragraph nine of the last page, which is the full report on the finding of May Parker. I'm telling you, Cap, this kid is smart," Tony remarked. "Like, really smart. He was petitioned for an internship at Oscorp, but turned down the offer last minute." He paused, but then his face brightened and he snapped his fingers. "Oh yes- and Ben Parker, his uncle, was shot this past year. Haven't caught the shooter yet. His parents died when he was around six, and his dad was a scientist who was- believe it or not- Rich Parker."

Steve blinked. "Who?"

Tony's grin faded slightly. "My God," he said, and his face morphed into an abhorring expression. "It really is pathetic how little you know about the modern world; it has to be some sort or record."

Steve pulled a face. "Excuse me if my iceberg didn't get wireless."

"Excuses, excuses," Tony sighed, making an impatient gesture as he explained, "Richard Parker worked for Oscorp on some sort of top secret serum with Doctor Curt Connors and- get this- Eddie Brock Senior. Apparently, and now this is speculation, but apparently Brock and Parker were on the same plane with both their wives when it crashed. Two geniuses, same plane, same crash. How many times have planes crashed? What's that statistic- winning the lottery five times in a row more likely than to die by plane? Probably more likely to get caught in an iceberg than crash a plane- but then, you were doing both..."

"Tony, back to present," Steve commanded, and Tony shook his head, brown eyes fixed on Steve's face.

"The point is, Cap, is that this kid has lost everybody- and I mean everybody."

"I know," Steve said defensively. "So have I!"

Tony grimaced, gritting his teeth. "I don't think you're understanding my point here, Icicle," he pressed. "He's lost _everybody_- Mom, Dad, Auntie and Uncle Parker- everyone. With your line of work...are you sure he isn't going to lose someone else?"

Steve rolled his eyes, turning around. He held the manilla folder up, still walking away from Stark. "Thanks for the folder," he said, "you know how terrible I am with the telephones here." He clicked the "down" button on the elevator, waiting a few seconds until it dinged. Stepping inside, he called to a retreating Tony, "And Stark?" Tony turned to look at him. "I lost everyone, too. Plus," He hit the button for the first floor, "I've lived for seventy years- who's to say with a bit of yoga I can't live seventy more?"  
The elevator doors closed before Tony could reply.

**...**

Peter found his breakfast tasteless and rubbery in his mouth, and put down his utensils, his half eaten pancake sitting plainly in front of him. Normally, Peter Parker could down five in a row during one sitting, especially because of his Spider-Man powers, but…

He couldn't. Not now.

Kim didn't comment when he scraped the food into the garbage and dipped his plate into the sink, only tracked his movements with skillful, pitying eyes. Peter didn't want pity.

He wanted Aunt May back.

Wordlessly, Peter walked into the hallway and pulled on a hoodie, opening the front door. Kim appeared in the doorway. "Where are you going?" She called, and Peter blinked back at her.

He shrugged. It was the only thing he could do. The words were clogged in his throat, so easy to form but so terribly hard to force out…

Kim sighed, crossing her arms and nodding. "Alright. Go. Be back for dinner, yeah?"

Peter didn't reply, turning around and walking through the door. Not like he could talk, anyway.

He didn't look back.

**...**

Steve took a deep breath, staring down at the paper and trying to smooth the crumples that had formed when he had clenched it in his hand. He looked at the house and then back at the paper, matching the addresses, and once he was confident that yes, this was the house he had wanted to get to and yes, he had gotten it right did he permit himself a small smile in triumph. It faltered when he realized the still daunting situation ahead, and with a deep breath, he knocked on the blue door.

The woman that answered looked decidedly friendly and ushered him in. "You must be the Mr. Rogers I talked with on the phone," she gushed, grabbing his hand and shaking it. Steve tried his best not to look harried. "I'm Barbara and I'm the head here at the adoption agency; we can have a seat in my office and discuss all the necessary paperwork and such, and you can fill out all your forms there. Okey dokey?"  
Steve nodded, struggling to keep up with the peppy woman, who talked at a mile a minute and didn't seem to need to breathe in order to live. He followed her wordlessly into her brightly colored office, nickknacks and small trinkets strewn about like Rainbow had decided to throw a party with its friends, Unicorn and Sunshine.

Blinking the stars from his eyes, he took a seat in the chair on the opposite side of the desk, doing his best not to fidget. He knew Tony had taken care of most things, like the cost, the backgrounds checks (private and guarded by S.H.I.E.L.D.), and he suspected the time frame, which would have normally taken nine months and not three hours plus paperwork.

"Right-o," she giggled, slipping cube shaped glasses onto her face, "Why do you want to adopt?"

Steve sighed, swallowing, and folded his hands in his lap. "Well," he started, "mostly because I feel my life is empty. I have no more living relatives and I've lost almost everyone I've known or loved in a...short span of time. I was...away...for a while, but I came back to find everything changed. It's overwhelming. Also, many children have been orphaned...recently...and I want to do all I can to offer a safe and loving environment."

Barbara smiled at him, and it was only then he realized that she was steadily growing more misty eyed as she stared at him. He cleared his throat, and her face abruptly snapped back to that of a professional. She didn't acknowledge the flush climbing its way up her cheeks. "Well, that's lovely, lovely-" she scribbled something down on her clipboard, "and around what age were thinking of?"

Steve smiled, and she nearly swooned. He chuckled privately to himself. "Teenage years," he said a little warily. Tony had cautioned strongly against looking like you had your eyes on a specific child.

"Don't act creepy, ya geizer," he had said gruffly as he dragged Steve towards the lift, "it's not like back in "the good ol' days". There are crazy people in New York now."  
"Like you?" Steve had asked innocently (and earned himself a rather painful slap to the back of the head for his cheek).

Barbara positively beamed. "Really?" She said enthusiastically, scribbling again on her board. "That's wonderful, we've gotten so many, and no one ever-" She caught herself and suddenly fell silent, flushing once again. Steve lowered his eyes. She cleared her throat daintily. "Eh hem. Anyway. And are you financially stable?"

Steve tried to contain the smirk, he really did. But when one is rooming with New York's biggest billionaire playboy in a tower where each person gets their own floor, it was pretty hard. "Yes. I don't know if you happen to have heard of Tony Stark?"

For the lack of better wording, Barbara choked. "...Yes I know him," she managed, and Steve had a flitting fear that he had broken her. She straightened again in her chair, the pen making scratching sounds against her paper. "Well, thank you Mister Rogers. Usually it would take around nine months for all of this to be processed, and training and all," she shifted uncomfortably, "but in your- eh hem- special case, I can pull the files of the teenagers we have in our system. Any idea as to what ages?"

Steve smiled at her. "Between fifteen and eighteen?"

Barbara looked as if she was trying to contain her surprise. "You know, if you weren't Captain America this would look suspicious," she tried to joke, and Steve attempted a grin, not questioning how she knew him. He had been spotted multiple times throughout The Invasion without his masked hood up, and was sure that some news reporter had caught his face on tape somewhere along the lines. He was unconcerned though; his face may have been attractive, but a blonde haired, blue eyed man in a city full of people who could look similar wasn't much of a lead.

His hands were going numb, he was clenching them together so forcefully. She returned from her desk drawer and passed him three manilla folders.

Steve looked up questioningly.

She went slightly pink. "There would be more," she said lamely. "But…"

Steve tightened his jaw and nodded, offering her a tense smile. Paperwork seemed like such a small thing in light of the recent events.

He did read each report, one on a fifteen year old girl and another about seventeen year old boy. Peter's was the last. He read the file again even though he had read the one Tony had provided for him (quite more abundant than this file, Steve was positive) and skimmed the paperwork. He handed the folders back to Barbara with a small smile.

"Alright," he said. "Do you think I could meet Peter Parker?"

Barbara grimaced and lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Are you sure you want him?" She murmured. "Not to be mean to him and of course I'm very happy he has this opportunity, but he's just lost- and he hasn't even settled-"

"I'm sure," Steve interjected, and Barbara gave him a tight lipped smile.

"Right. You'll need a lawyer for this, too," she said, and Steve grinned.

"I have it covered," he assured. "I think Tony knows a guy…"

"I'll fetch the paperwork then," she agreed, and came back moments later with what looked like a novel.

He whistled. "You don't do things halfway, do you Barbara?" He joked, and the atmosphere was lifted.

Sighing and grabbing a pen from the desk, he began to read.

* * *

_**I know it's a little slow going, but bear with me here, readers! Almost there! So...A LOT of you voted no PeterXGwen. So...do you want me to introduce MJ in this fic, or...? **__**Hope you enjoyed it, thank you reading, and please leave me a comment!**_


	4. Who Knew Captain America Ate Pancakes?

**_GREAT GATSBY! That's a LOT of feedback for three chapters only! I love you guys. You make my day. Thanks for all of it! As a thank- you, I posted this two days early (because I love reading your reactions). WE GET TO MEET STEVE THIS CHAPTER AND OHMYGOD I'M KINDA NERVOUS SO HAVE FUN READING!_**

* * *

Peter wordlessly shot another web, swinging from building to building languidly. He didn't have a particular place to be and he was too heart heavy and exhausted to even try to stop crimes. There would still be crimes tomorrow. Today, just like yesterday, Peter simply _couldn't_.

Sighing, he wound himself around a flagpole, perching elegantly about fifteen stories above the street. He watched the passerby with interest, chuckling and picking out this person and that, and those who were coming home from a day in a costume from Times Square (as one could easily pick out those people). Taking a deep breath and deciding not to compare his costume to theirs, he took off again, aimlessly wandering about the city. He avoided Oscorp Tower like it was the plague itself and Gwen's house was completely out of the question, so he was done with his small exploration of the city faster than he'd thought he be, taking the time to go around those blocks (but limiting his mobility slightly).

He landed on a roof and pulled his clothing out of the vent he had placed them in, fetching his skateboard. He jumped down the fire escape with ease and slung his skateboard over his shoulder, beginning to walk back to Kim's with a heavy soul.

_He can imagine them, her screams, as the large bricks crushed her as they crumbled_-

Had she thought of him? Had she had time? Had it been painful?

Peter swallowed, lowering his head. It should've been him_. It should have been him._ He could've survived it, he knew he could; he could have simply done as he was told the first time and she wouldn't even have been there. She could have lived._ She should have lived._

He opened and closed the front door, laying his skateboard in front of the closet and slipping off his hoodie. Kim's voice came from the kitchen. "Peter? Is that you?"

Peter chose not to answer, instead giving a half hearted wave to his current guardian. Kim gave him a small smile. "Come on, dinner's ready."

Peter stayed where he was, and when she noticed he didn't follow, she glanced back at him. Her face grew stern. "You need to eat, Peter," she said firmly, but he shrugged. He opened his mouth to explain-

And found that familiar lump in his throat that had been there since he'd realized Aunt May was...gone. He couldn't talk. That lump simply wouldn't let him. He swallowed and did his best to put his emotions in his eyes.

Kim's face softened. "Breakfast tomorrow, young man," she announced, narrowing her eyes and pointing at him. "No excuses."

He barely had the chance to nod before he was fleeing, taking the steps four at a time.

Aunt May always called him that when she was frustrated, too.

...

_It was dark. Dark like smoke, dark like night. Dark without stars. No light at all. Voices, whispering, whispering; talking to him, saying things in his ear. Failure, they murmured. You failed her. The one person you had to do right by, and you completely failed her. She's dead because of you. Dead._

_That's not true, he argued, but it was a pathetic attempt at self comfort. That's not true._

_It is, though, they muttered back. It is. She was counting on you. If you had just done what she'd asked the first time-_

_"Peter," Uncle Ben said, patting his knee, "You need to take care of your aunt when I work long hours, alright? She isn't going anywhere, but she isn't as young as she used to be, either. Just...do a she says and help out as much as you can, alright?"_

_I didn't, he choked. I couldn't help her._

_Failed, failed, failed! Someone gleefully sang in the back of his mind. It sounded suspiciously like the Lizard Curt Connors. Peter Parker failed at the one thing he had to do!_

_Shut up, he snarled. Leave me alone._

_You will never be able to do anything right. You killed your aunt._

_I didn't! He thought desperately._

_You killed her, the voice growled. YOU KILLED HER!_

Peter bolted into a sitting position, panting wildly. He glanced to his left, but Brady was facing the wall away from him, and if he had woken with Peter's nightmare, he didn't move or show it. Peter gulped in air like he was drowning and threw back the covers, cracking the window and climbing down, and snapped his web shooters into place (he hadn't taken them off).

He ran, the words from his night terror echoing in his ears.

...

"Peter?" Kim's voice called from down the stairs. "Breakfast!" He groaned soundlessly, the aches and pains in his back coming alive once again. He stretched, sliding on a t-shirt and pulling on pants, noting the absence of his roommate with only slight interest. Brady seemed to be out of the room more than in it and it was almost Peter's own.

He hurried down the stairs, a slight grumble in his stomach. He was hungry, but the thought of eating still made him slightly sick, his stomach tossing warningly.

He poured himself a cup of coffee, avoiding looking at the table. They all stared at him with such pitying glances and he couldn't take that. He didn't want pity and he didn't want sympathy. Especially not from all the other orphans.

Orphan. Such a funny word. Only a word.

A word that could end someone's life like _that_.

Peter had been an orphan before Aunt May had died- both his parents were dead already. But Aunt May had been his mother since he was six years old. She had been the one who had kissed his scrapes and wiped his tears and fed him dinner even when he hadn't wanted it. She had accepted him and cared about his grades and worried about him, even though he hadn't wanted her to. She had complained about his lack of laundry doing and had scolded him when he had been out past curfew, but she had never once told him to completely stop being Spider-Man.

He was only an orphan _now_.

He couldn't look these people in the face just yet. Not yet.

At very least, he couldn't do it without some coffee in him. Not after the nightmare. Not after everything.

The warm coffee slid down his throat and warmed his chest, and Peter practically sighed in relief. The caffeine kept him going. With his first sip, he nearly drained half the cup. It wouldn't be his only cup of the day, he was sure. He couldn't bring himself to care. He felt a little numb, actually, like he wasn't actually in his body.

_Pancakes_? he wondered tonelessly, the lump still firmly in place as he turned around to take a seat at the table. The chair he usually sat in, however, was already occupied.

By Captain freaking America.

Captain. Freaking. America.

If there had been any coffee in his mouth, he would've spat it out. What was Captain America, AKA Steve Rogers, doing in his foster home's kitchen? Was he in trouble? A sickening pit formed in his stomach. Did he know who Peter was? No, he couldn't… Could he? Swallowing, he fidgeted, trying and failing to hide his panic.

Steve Rogers was calmly cutting and eating pancakes, lightly covered in syrup and butter. A manilla file sat on the tabletop next to his plate and Peter eyed it cautiously. "Peter, Mr. Rogers is interested in adopting you." Kim said sweetly from her spot across from Steve, who jumped slightly and spun around in his seat to look at the young man.

Peter felt his heart stutter to a stop.

He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or completely and utterly confused, and figured he was probably both, if he could've felt them at the moment. So maybe Captain America wasn't here to arrest him...but why was he adopting him, of all things?

Peter chuckled humorlessly to himself. Captain America adopting Spider-Man. Who would have thought. They could have a whole superfamily and everything. They'd go about and people would point.

He almost giggled that time as he imagined he and the other Avengers all in matching blue shirts with the letter 'A' on them.

What were the chances to begin with?

Steve nodded, standing completely and shifting a little. If Peter didn't know better, the good Captain almost looked as nervous as Peter felt.

"Peter...Mister Parker," he started. "I know...I'm not exactly...a prime parent, and I sure as hell aren't perfect, but...I'd...be really grateful if you gave me...a shot."

Peter sucked in a shuddering breath. He didn't...but...Aunt May...he couldn't...would he have to call Steve 'Dad'? Would he have to live with him? He didn't even know this person. Not that Captain America was going to like, kill him or anything, but would he find out his secret? Could he do this? What about school?

He opened his mouth, trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart at the same time. As he expected, no sound came forth, and Peter felt his whole soul sink. Surely Captain America didn't want a teenager, much less a "mute" one. His shoulders slumped and, aware he looked like an idiot, he closed his mouth again.

Kim looked as if she was blinking away tears, and her voice wavered. "He's been having trouble speaking, I think," she admitted tearfully. "He hasn't spoken since he reported his...his aunt missing. I think...it's some sort of defense mechanism or something, but what do I know? I think he might be in a bit of shock, too. But again, I wouldn't know. Peter? Can you try to talk, Honey?"

Peter shook his head, hanging it so they wouldn't see the tears gathering in his eyes._ Oh brilliant_, he thought. _First you make a complete fool of yourself in front of Captain America by not being able to talk, and now you're going to burst into tears like a child._

"That's okay, Pete," Steve said gently. "You don't have to try to talk. I just…" He ran a hand through his hair. "I have an idea," he exclaimed, and he opened the manilla folder and fetched a piece of looseleaf, pulling a pen out of his back pocket.

Peter accepted the pen and paper. Leaning against a counter, he began to write.

_Well, first off, I'm Peter Parker, but I guess you already knew that. Uh. Why do you want to adopt me? I mean, I'm... I'm just...normal. I don't mean anything._

He handed the paper to Steve, whose brows furrowed as he read it. "Peter, you're not just nothing," he chided. "And I want to adopt you because…" He sighed and glanced at Kim. "Can you give us...privacy?"

Kim started, and looked embarrassed. "Right. Of course. My apologies." She slipped away.

Steve sighed again, running a hand through his hair again. A habit when he was nervous, Peter figured. "Pete," he said quietly. "I lost everybody. I know what it's like. I lost everybody, too. And...I know how much it hurts. I know how...God. I just...I understand a little Peter, I really do."

Peter clenched his jaw and swallowed, but said nothing. Steve smiled softly and returned to paper. Peter scribbled again.

_Even so. Why me? I mean, I appreciate the...opportunity, I really do. I'm sorry. But...I'm nothing. Really I am. I don't deserve anythi- he crossed this part out- I don't know what I did to deserve anything you want to give me._

As Steve read the message, he pursed his lips. He shifted, and he looked at Peter with stormy eyes. "Peter," he said, and his voice was laden with sorrow and guilt, "I am so, so sorry. Truly. Tony- that is, Iron Man- and I were patrolling the buildings again, just in case. Just to be safe. And we saw- we saw that bank. We did. But it was on a street that had been evacuated early, and Clint- err, Hawkeye- had needed backup on his block. Badly. We were about to check it- honestly, we were. We were. It would have only taken _two seconds."_

He let out a huffy, disbelieving breath, and looked at war with himself. "Only two seconds. But we didn't. We just..._skipped_ it. It collapsed behind us- I remember hearing it- and I remember dismissing it. I...If I had only _checked_…"

He swallowed, and his eyes were moist. "And I am so, so very sorry, Peter."

Two tears ran their way down his cheeks and Peter viciously wiped them away. He wouldn't show such weakness in front of Captain America, one of his heroes. He wouldn't. "I understand if you don't want to come with me," Steve said honestly, face open. "And I am completely okay with that. But I need something in my life, as I'm so alone, and I know what it's like and I am so, so sorry. I just figured..I could...give you someplace alone, other than here."

Peter's chin trembled. His hands balled into fists. This wasn't Mr. Rogers' fault...not at all. He didn't check a building because his teammate needed help. He'd thought it empty. He hadn't checked. He didn't know why Aunt May hadn't evacuated like everyone else; maybe she'd gotten stuck. Maybe she'd been trapped anyway.

If he would've just done as he was told…

Away from here. Away from the pitying glances and the curfew and, he was sorry he was relieved, the prying eyes of Brady. Away from bad breakfast and loud snores and strange new people. Away from overbearing foster guardians who _were not his mom_.

He opened his mouth to talk, and the lump was gone.

"Let me get my coat."

* * *

**_**spazzes** AHN AHN AHN IS IT OKAY DID YOU LIKE IT DID IT SEEM OKAY AHNNNNNNNNNN_**

**_Thanks for reading and please leave me a comment on your thoughts! See you...Sunday (OH POSTING EARLY WHAT IS THIS SON)_**


	5. Meet The Fockers

_**Boo! Thanks again so much for the feedback and OH GOD WE MEET THE AVENGERS AHHHHHHN WORRIED AGAIN PLEASE ENJOY-**_

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He bound up the stairs, flying into his room, which was, as expected, sans Brady. He threw the meager belongings he had placed into drawers back into his mostly packed suitcase, running down the hall to the shared bathroom to grab his toothbrush. Grinning, he ran back and pulled out his drawer of "Spidey" items (such as his needle and thread, web shooters, and mask) and dumped them into the bag, along with his spare pair of shoes.

Zipping it and barely sparing a glance back, he nearly tripped down the stairs he was in such a rush. He gracefully hopped the last five and ran to the hall, grabbing his hoodie and spare jacket from the tight closet and his skateboard, meeting Steve eagerly back in the kitchen.

His life was looking up finally; he was going to actually be able to be Spider-Man and not worry about money and being a burden so much and he didn't have to fix things that broke anymore because Steve was an Avenger and surely that paid pretty well-

"Whoa Sport, not so fast there," Steve smiled and Peter was breathless. He was going to live with Captain America, and he wouldn't have to worry about nightmares waking anyone or eating when he couldn't or- or- having to be extra quiet and cover his tracks because of Brady sharing a room-

"I'll be right back. I just have to tell Kim and then we're off!" Steve eyed the bag and skateboard. "Is that it?"

Peter nodded, smiling diminishing. Steve shrugged. "Okay. Be back in a moment. Car's out front. I was going to walk and Tony insisted I take the jaguar. He loves showing off his money."

Peter's brows furrowed. "You were driving though?"

Steve smirked. "License plate is "Stark 34"."

Peter couldn't help his small snort. "He seems incredibly modest," he answered, and Steve laughed.

Peter decided to just wait on the steps outside to give Steve privacy. He'd say goodbye to Kim first.

It was brief. He didn't hug her, but did offer a small wave, and she looked quite upset when he wordlessly climbed into the passenger's seat, but she didn't comment. She and Mr. Rogers shook hands, and Peter tried to contain his smile as Steve came down the steps and got into the driver's seat next to him.

"Ready?" He asked, and Peter nodded.

As they drove down the street, Peter didn't look back.

* * *

"Don't be too unsettled," Steve said as they rode the elevator up, "they're a little...overwhelming at first."

Peter nodded, trying his best to look confident. He was actually here, this was actually happening; he was riding in an elevator in Stark Tower next to Captain America about to meet the other Avengers. He was having trouble containing his jittery-ness, foot tapping and leg jiggling.

The elevator doors dinged open, and Peter's mouth fell open.

Tony Stark stood in the living room, a drink in hand. His eyebrows rose once he saw them and he put his drink down on a counter, grabbing Peter's hand. "You must be Mister Parker," he said civilly, and Steve couldn't help but marvel at the change, "hope you enjoy the tower."

Peter positively beamed, and Steve's heart soared. This was the teenager that his aunt had known; a fun loving, excitable boy. Not a grave young man. "Hello, Mr. Stark," he breathed, and Tony laughed, showing his teeth.

"Please, Tony," he said, "Mr. Stark was my father." Peter's smile faded a little and a blush crept across his cheeks. Steve grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners just watching him. "Now," Tony said, clapping his hands together, "did you bring your own condoms, or…?"

Steve's grin abruptly fell. "Tony!"

Peter shifted, hunching a little. He muttered, "And why would you assume I need any?"

Tony smirked. "You're a teenage boy. Hormones go crazy. I know. And we're all about safety in the Avengers."

Steve groaned, his hand firmly smacking against his forehead. "Knew I should have introduced you to Bruce first…"

"Bruce first what?" A friendly voice called, and Steve turned around. Peter's eyes widened, and he looked a little like a starstruck fanboy.

"As in...Bruce _Banner_?" He exclaimed. "_The_ Dr. Bruce Banner?!"

Bruce smiled, and it was only then Steve realised Bruce was covered in soot (or something of that sort). His brows furrowed.

"The one and only," Bruce said, clasping Peter's hand. "Who might you be?"

Peter was absolutely breathless. "P-Peter Parker, Sir," he stuttered. "I- I read your papers on the nuclear physics ideas and saw your document on gamma-bombing. It...it was brilliant!"

Bruce paled in astonishment. "And you understood it?!"

Peter swallowed, ducking his head to hide his grin. "I...I've kind of got a knack for science," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

"YES!" Tony shouted, throwing a fist in the air. "Another science bro!"

Peter's brows furrowed. "Science…?"

"They'll corrupt you," Steve warned, eyes focused on Bruce. "What...happened?"

Bruce blinked, glancing down at himself. He didn't seem alarmed. "Oh. Yeah. Never going to try that again…"

He walked towards the bathroom without another word, face a little resentful.

"Ow!"

Steve's attention snapped back to Peter, who was rubbing the back of his head. He glanced over his shoulder and glared, and Steve peered around the teenager's body to see what it was.

Clint stood there, a nerf gun in his extended hand. He lowered it. "Intruder," he deadpanned. "But don't worry. I got him." His face was blank, and he shifted his bow around on his back until it was in a presumably comfortable position.

Peter made a face, and Steve rolled his eyes. "I'm sure he appreciates that, Robin Hood," Steve said, and Tony hummed, brows drawn together.

"Where did you even get that?" He asked, pointing to the nerf gun. Shaking his head, he sighed. "Nevermind; was probably out of my bank account anyway. So tell me Peter," he said, changing the topic,"You good at science? Like it?"

Peter shrugged bashfully, wishing his cheeks weren't rosy but knowing by their heat they were. "Uh...I suppose. I mean, probably better than most of my other classmates, anyway."

Tony grinned. "Great. Can't wait to see you in the lab!"

"Is this too much?" Came Natasha's voice, and they all whirled around.

Steve sighed. "Actually, too little," he corrected, taking Peter by the shoulder. "Come on. I'll show you your room."

"I'm coming!" Tony yelled gleefully, practically skipping up to them.

"NATASHA ROMANOFF," they heard Clint thunder from their places in the hallway, "YOU BETTER HOPE THIS IS SOME UNCOVER GAG FOR FURY OR I SWEAR-"

Steve groaned, Peter blushed, and Tony chuckled. "Hey," he said, patting Steve on the shoulder, "it could be worse. Thor could be visiting, Capsicle."

Steve shuddered. "Only God knows what he would get into with the microwave this time…"

Peter's small giggle could be heard for three floors down.

**...**

"So what do you think?" Tony said, smiling smugly and crossing his arms. Peter was wordless. "The whole floor is yours," he continued. "And you can furnish however. I just put some basic stuff in like a bed, and nightstands and couches and such. The kitchen is yours, but usually we all hang out on floor fourteen together, which is kinda like our family haunt. It's got a kitchen, living room, and dining room, as well as a couple bathrooms. But you don't necessarily have to eat with us and things."

Peter nodded silently, gaping. There were expensive looking appliances in the kitchen and extremely nice electronics in the living room and perhaps the biggest bed Peter had ever seen in his crazy large bedroom. He swallowed. "I don't know what to say," he admitted. This was far too much; more than he ever deserved.

Tony grinned. "I know, I'm simply stunning," he said, smirking.

Forgetting himself, Peter gave himself a little slack; lost a little of his control on his tongue. "Yeah, but you forgot my pillow mints," he said smartly, crossing his arms.

There was a small moment of disbelieving silence before Steve burst into hysterical laughter, throwing back his head. Tony spluttered. "I- that was- that is not-"

But the rest of the sentence was lost over Steve and Peter's chuckling._ That's him,_ Steve thought. _That's the actual Peter Parker._

He finally had the energy to compose himself, breathing deeply. "I'll go get your bags," he said. "I left them in the hall by the elevator."

Peter smiled at him as he exited, letting out a small sigh once he was gone. It wasn't that Steve was exhausting, but acting took a lot out of someone, especially when he was acting like he was alright. He is not alright this isn't right it's so so different-

Tony eyed him. "You know kid," he said, laying a hand on Peter's shoulder, "I was originally against this, not going to lie. But...you're not half bad." There was a small pause, then: "Well...hope you enjoy it. Honest. Oh, uh, and you should probably know who JARVIS is."

Peter's brows furrowed, his train of thought interrupted. "JARVIS?"

"_Yes, Mr. Parker?"_

Peter jumped so high he almost stuck to the ceiling. Tony didn't seem perturbed. "Yeah, JARVIS. He's like my...butler. But not. Anyway. I'm off. Get some sleep. JARVIS can give you anything you need; just ask." He shuffled awkwardly. "Okay. Night."

"Night." There was a pause and Tony was about to leave, but just before he made it through the doorway Peter blurted, "wait!" Tony turned, and Peter scrambled for words. "I- I- I just- uhh…" He took a deep breath. "Thanks, Tony."

Tony smiled genuinely this time. "No problem, kiddo."

And Steve, from where he was listening in the next hall, had never felt so confident about a decision in his entire life.

* * *

**_please leave me a comment on your thoughts OH GOD WHAT IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT OH MY GOD AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHN PLEASE LEAVE ME A COMMENT SEE YOU ON FRIDAY!_**


	6. Nothing At All

_**Wowza! Really, I can't believe the amount of positive feedback I've gotten for this story. Ghostunderasheet: Surprisingly, you're not the first person to tell me I panic too easily, haha. It's true though, I do need to slow down sometimes...Thank you for waiting so patiently and thanks a bunch for the review!**_

* * *

Peter lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He felt numb.

_What have I done to deserve all this?_ He wondered_. This life? These people? I can't. I don't deserve any of this. I don't deserve Steve, or Tony, or Bruce of any of them. I don't deserve this luxury. I don't deserve it. I'm just a burden. Such, such a burden._

Sucking in a breath and curling into a ball, he finally gave in and allowed the tears to come. Once he opened the floodgates, it was colossal; he sobbed, burying his face in his pillow to try to muffle the sounds, but then he realized he had the whole floor to himself and so it didn't matter. Tears leaked off his nose and stained his sheets but he simply couldn't bring himself to care.

_Everything is different. Everything is so, so different._

Peter choked on air, finding it hard to breathe again._ Aunt May is dead_, he finally realized. _She's dead. She's dead._

Letting out another strangled whimper, he fisted in his blankets, biting his hands. _She's dead. She's dead. She's dead._

He cried and found himself wishing that she were here. She would know what to do; she always did. She would take him into her arms and tell him everything would be okay even if it wouldn't be. He wanted Aunt May.

_It's all my fault. It's all my fault. All my fault. All my fault. All my fault._

"All my fault," he sobbed, "all of it; all of it is my fault. Uncle Ben, Aunt May; everything. Everything is my fault. I killed them. I killed them."

**...**

_"Mr. Rogers?"_

Steve groaned, running a hand over his face. "Mmmm...JARVIS? What's going on?"

"_It's about Mr. Parker, Sir."_

Now completely alert, Steve sat up. "What? What's happened?"

"_I'm afraid Mr. Parker is having something akin to a nightmare_," JARVIS informed. _"He is muttering to himself and weeping."_

Steve sighed, running a hand over his face. He should have expected this, but having it actually happen made it all the more heartwrenching. "Did he ask for me, JARVIS?"

JARVIS seemed to hesitate a moment. _"No, Sir, but I felt the need to inform you anyway. He did not specifically forbid me to make you aware of it."_

Steve chuckled humorlessly, grumbling. "It's his first night here, JARVIS. He doesn't know how you work yet. Besides, I'm sure he would want me to just show up. He'd probably be embarrassed."

He had been trailing off and talking to himself mostly, but JARVIS's response brought him back to the present. "_Very well, Sir."_

Steve settled back down but found himself staring at the ceiling, unable to fall back asleep. Peter's face swam in his mind, but it was contorted into something full of anguish and grief. Tears ran down his cheeks.

"JARVIS?" Steve called quietly.

_"Yes, Sir?"_

Steve hesitated. "What was Peter...muttering?"

A pause. _"Would you like me to play it back? Mr. Parker has not disabled my recording devices on certain parts of his floor yet."_

Steve's mouth went dry and he hesitated. "No, JARVIS. But please, disable your recording device from Peter's bedrooms and bathrooms. Anywhere else is fine for now unless he tells you."

"_Yes Sir."_

"What was he saying?"

"_He was repeating, 'I killed them', Sir."_

Coming from JARVIS, the chant sounded emotionless and blank. But Steve could imagine it in Peter's voice, wholeheartedly believing and gut-wrenchingly sorrowful, and he couldn't believe the contraction in his chest at the thought of Peter Parker blaming himself for something that Steve and Tony did. It was mostly Steve, though; he had been the one to make the decision not to check…

He rolled over, trying to ignore the echo of Peter's voice in his ears.

**...**

Peter had been awake all night, shadows stretching and demons keeping sleep from his reach. In a large way, Peter was glad; if it kept the nightmares at bay, it was worth it. He stumbled down (up, technically, seeing as floor fourteen was higher than nine) to breakfast, rubbing the nonexistent sleep out of his eyes.

The only ones in the kitchen were Bruce and Tony, the latter holding a drink._ Does that man understand the concept of "happy hour"?_

In his half asleep, exhausted state, Peter blearily looked through the cabinets for a bowl, going into the fridge for milk. Sidling up next to Bruce and taking a seat, he poured himself some Froot Loops, beginning to eat. Bruce gave him a small half smile, moving his cereal about with his spoon and saying, "good morning."

Peter gruffly murmured, "mornin'." It was still too early for him to have a personality yet.

Tony polished off his drink and went to pour himself another. Bruce stopped him with a look and, with a sigh, Tony instead put the glass in the dishwasher and grabbed a water bottle, raising his eyebrows as if to say, _there. Happy now?_

Peter couldn't help it; he giggled. Immediately, both pairs of eyes snapped to him, but suddenly he was feeling a little hysterical, and burst into laughter. Bruce and Tony were sending him confused looks, like, _uh, are you okay?_ But this only set him off again. Here he was, eating breakfast with Earth's mightiest heroes, his aunt was dead, he was an orphan, he had been adopted by Captain America, and was now living with the Avengers. He snuck out as Spider-Man on a nightly basis and he had a freaking physics paper due tomorrow. His life was so screwed up.

Once he recovered, he flushed, timidly looking up through his fringe. Bruce was sending him incredulous looks and Tony was smirking at him. "Sorry," he mumbled, but Bruce grinned, patting him on the shoulder. Peter's head shot up.

"I don't know what that was about," Tony said suddenly, "but it was downright hilarious."

Peter couldn't control his smile.

_Maybe these guys...aren't so bad after all._

**...**

"Hey Peter," Steve called, and Peter put down his shirt and opened his bedroom door for his guardian, "I know…"

Peter stopped and tilted his head, eyes beckoning for Steve to continue. Steve took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know that the social security people said that you could only take what you needed from your house," Steve said quietly, shifting. "But the storage people haven't had time yet to put it all away, so I figured we could run over, see if we couldn't find anything?"

Peter blanched, his mind going blank.

_Going back there, back home, back where she was, back where they were- too much too much too much-_

"Y-yeah," he managed past the huge lump in his throat. "Yeah. If that's okay."

Steve smiled. "Definitely. Now good?"

Peter nodded, grabbing his shoes and pulling them on before following Steve into the elevator. He took a deep breath. _I can do this._

**...**

_I can't do this._

Standing in front of his house in Queens, Peter bit his lip so hard he drew blood. Ignoring the trembling of his fingers, he gently smoothed out the wood on the front door. He and Uncle Ben had painted it just last year. Just…

Pushing it open gently, he stepped into his hallway, ducking into the living room. Scanning the room, he grabbed the throw blanket and a small pillow, figuring they could go over his own couches back at...Stark Tower. Trying his hardest not to throw up, Peter made his way to the kitchen, avoiding the closet of food completely and only grabbing Aunt May's apron.

Things were hard to let go.

Bounding up the stairs, he decided he'd start in his room. Opening the door softly, he stepped inside, going to his closet and grabbing off anything from the shelves he would need- extra clothing, picture frames. His father's bag. Thank God. His father's bag.

Sniffling, he moved under his bed, pulling out a suitcase. With shaking hands he threw his collected items in and grabbed one of his bed pillows, stuffing it up and putting it at the bottom. He still had plenty of room left for other sorts of things as the suitcase was large, so he went about his room picking up this thing and that, from pictures to old figurines.

Zipping his case and pulling it out the door, he entered Aunt May's and Uncle Ben's room. He did this with no small amount of trepidation, his steps slight. This had always been the one room he had scarcely gone in, it having been Aunt May's and Uncle Ben's private area. Now, he felt slightly vile that he was doing it only in their deaths.

Immediately, he grabbed the throw blanket off their bed too, picking up picture frames and putting them delicately into his backpack. He had brought extra bags in case things proved to be harder to give up than he thought.

He had never wanted to be more wrong in all his life.

Swallowing, he went under the bed, finding a few old picture albums. These too he shoved in his bag. Something caught his eye, and he walked over to the nightstand, letting out a small sob.

Her necklace. Her cross necklace that she always wore everywhere. She must've taken it off that day. Why, Peter didn't know.

Tears plopping onto the table as he leaned over, he picked it up, putting it around his neck and clasping it around the back. Giving the room one last look over, he decided he was done, and was halfway down the stairs when it hit him.

He was never coming back here.

Folding in on himself on the landing, he finally allowed that information to sink in. He couldn't come back. Not after everything. Not after this. Sometimes you had to...move on. And living in this house wasn't something he could do.

And had Peter any tears left he would have cried as he mourned over the things he'd lost.

* * *

Steve stayed on the porch for approximately a half an hour, keen hearing picking up final rustling within. He knew Peter had fallen down the stairs by the many thumps he'd heard, and he also knew Peter had wanted to cry by the muffled sobs. Looking into Peter's dry eyes now, he knew the tears wouldn't come.

"You ready?" He asked. He didn't dare pose the question "are you okay". It seemed a ridiculous thing to ask, now. Peter nodded, not meeting his eyes. Steve inwardly sighed. Back to the shy Peter Parker. "Alright." He glanced down at the suitcase. "Is that all?"

Peter gulped. "yeah."

Steve pursed his lips. "Alright. Come on. We've got to get back."

Peter only nodded again, head down. Steve's heart clenched.

The car ride was silent besides the occasional stuttering breath from Peter, and Steve didn't know what to say or do. What could he say? There was nothing that he could say.

Nothing at all.

* * *

**_Okay, so this was a rather emotionally packed chapter, but...we get a break next chapter which I've already formulated in my head, so that's wonderful. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed, and please leave me a comment on your thoughts! See you...Thursday/Friday!_**


	7. It's All My Fault

**_Hello there, my friendly fanfictioners! So, what, did I totally tick all you off last chapter? Thanks for the person that reviewed last chapter and I hope you enjoy the next one!_**

**_Anyways, here's the chapter and ehm...you know how I promised no emotional trauma?_**

**_Well. Strap in your seatbelts, it's a bit of an emotionally bumpy ride._**

* * *

_"Mr. Rogers?"_

…

_"Mr. Rogers, Sir?"_

Steve grunted, rolling over and plopping a pillow over his head. He lay in silence a few moments, daring the electronic butler to speak again.

Unfortunately, JARVIS didn't seem to take the silent threat at face value._ "Sir, Mr. Parker is having a rather troublesome nightmare."_

Sitting up sharply and throwing back the covers, Steve ran a hand over his face and rubbed his eyes, immediately awake. "JARVIS? Is he okay?"

"_I'm afraid not, Sir. He is calling for you."_

If Steve had felt any hesitation, it vanished. Launching himself out of bed, he ran to the lift and viciously pressed the button for Peter's floor, jiggling his leg as it took time to move. _Come on come on come on._

It dinged as it opened and Steve raced through Peter's living room and hallways, throwing open his bedroom door.

Peter stared at him, eyes wide and tear filled. He blinked a couple times, tilting his head to the side as he wordlessly took in Steve's form, and all at once his face crumpled.

Steve didn't waste another moment.

He rushed forward and caught Peter as he swayed, his face burying into Steve's shoulder. Steve wrapped his arms around the lithe frame and held the teenager steady as sobs began to rip their way through him, jolting his body violently. Peter's hands grappled for something to hold on to and ended up fisting in the back of Steve's t-shirt.

Steve ignored the feeling of wetness growing on his shoulder, instead beginning to rock back and forth gently. He remembered this, comforting people. He did it for Bucky when he'd lost his parents, he'd done it for lads dying and dead in the war, and he'd done it for himself when he couldn't take anymore.

He'd do it for Peter, too.

Peter choked, pulling Steve closer and digging his face harder into the junction between Steve's neck and collarbone. Steve could make out muffled words. "I d-d-don't wanna b-be al-lone," Peter garbled. "P-please, please please."

Steve quietly shushed him. "It's okay, Peter," he whispered. 'You're not alone."

"B-b-but it's m-my- my fault," he sobbed. "I-if I had just d-done what she'd asked the f-f-first time she'd be- be- be- al-live and wouldn't h-have been there in th-the first p-place!"

And all at once, Steve understood the avoided eye contact, the hunched posture, the sleepless, weary eyes. And his blood froze in his veins.

Peter thought this was his fault. Peter thought that he had killed his aunt.

_I killed them, I killed them, I killed them,_ echoed in his memory, and he felt like a fool. Why hadn't he said anything before? Of course, he hadn't wanted to pry, but…

"I-I'm sorry," Peter stuttered, trying to pull away. Steve held him in place. "Oh G-God, I'm so s-sorry. I'm not- I didn't, I-"

"Peter," he interrupted softly, and Peter's mouth closed with an audible _clink_ of his teeth, "it's fine. It's all fine. You're fine."

"I'm not a child," Peter said, sounding angry. Steve knew it was a defense mechanism (one he had, in fact, used many times before in his own youth).

"You're not," he agreed easily, Peter's head still by his shoulder. "But you're a young man who has just lost everything he knew and had in the world."

Peter was silent for around three seconds-

And then he let go.

His whole body sagged against Steve and the tears began anew, but this time Peter did not try to suppress them. He shuddered and sobbed and gripped at Steve desperately, like he was afraid the man would disappear just like everything else had. Steve said nothing, just anchoring Peter to the world and waiting for the storm to pass.

It did.

After what seemed like hours and unstoppable tears, Peter's cries finally died down to the occasional sniffle, and he rest a cheek against Steve's collarbone in a moment of childish exhaustion. Then he was extracting himself from Steve's embrace, cheeks flaming and face tear streaked.

"I…" He mumbled, and Steve knew this could turn into a rather long winded excuse for his behavior.

"It's okay," he repeated. "It's okay." Pulling the covers up over Peter, he made sure they were secure before rising from his place on the bed. Peter looked panicked for a moment, like he thought Steve was leaving.

Instead, Steve pulled over an armchair from the corner of the room. Peter watched him through bleary eyes. "It's okay," Steve reassured. "I'm not going anywhere."

And that night, Peter Parker slept dreamlessly, Steve Rogers keeping the nightmares away.

**...**

He had bolted upright in unmitigated panic, a sound wrenching itself from his throat before he could think to stop it. Through his nightmare addled mind he registered that he was still speaking; calling for someone, maybe? He didn't know. He felt cold and hot and icky and disgusting, like he was sick.

And then he had started to tremble, because it was true and he had killed Aunt May _and_ Uncle Ben, the two people he loved most in the world who he failed. And he swallowed because _oh God, he was going to be sick._

And then Steve was crashing into the room and all Peter could think was:_ he came._ Steve hesitated at the door and Peter found him wanting someone, anyone, to take him and tell him that everything was fine and everything would be alright, even if it wouldn't be. He wanted someone. He needed someone.

He wanted Steve.

To his absolute horror, his eyes filled with tears, and he didn't have the chance to wipe them away before Steve's arms were _strong_ and _there_ and _around him_, and he couldn't do it.

Sobbing, he clutched at the loose fabric of Steve's t-shirt, fisting it and trying not to scream. He sobbed and sobbed and couldn't seem to stop, which scared him and made him to sob more. He wanted Aunt May and for everything to go back to the way it had been- he didn't want this, he didn't want to be Spider-Man anymore, he didn't want to live with these people, he wanted Aunt May and Uncle Ben-

Burying his face in Steve's shoulder seemed to be the only logical thing Peter could think to do at the moment, so he did, pulling Steve closer. He needed someone, anyone; he needed his aunt, she'd know what to do, he needed to feel safe, how could he do this to her-

And although he'd told himself he could do it, the truth was too hard to contain. "I d-d-don't wanna b-be al-lone," he admitted, hiccuping. No more being alone. No more. "P-please, please please."

Steve shushed him a little, stroking his hair. "It's okay, Peter," he whispered. 'You're not alone." And although the tone and the words were comforting, they did little to reassure him.

"B-b-but it's m-my- my fault," he sobbed, explaining the horrible truth. "I-if I had just d-done what she'd asked the f-f-first time she'd be- be- be- al-live and wouldn't h-have been there in th-the first p-place!"

Steve was silent for a few moments, growing still, and Peter thought, _oh God oh no no no he thinks I'm a monster because I didn't listen if I had just done it if I had been better I could be better but I wasn't listening why wasn't I listening why why why-_

"I-I'm sorry," he choked. He wouldn't burden Steve Rogers any longer. He wouldn't be a bother. He'd pack his things and go, and he'd find someplace else, even go back into foster care. He wouldn't do it. He wouldn't burden this kind man anymore. As he tried to pull away, Steve's arms tightened fractionally, and Peter figured he was angry. "Oh G-God, I'm so s-sorry. I'm not- I didn't, I-"

"Peter," Steve said softly, and Peter's mouth closed with an audible _clink_ of his teeth, "it's fine. It's all fine. You're fine."

No, it all wasn't fine- his Aunt May was dead and it was all his fault and_ why are you being nice to me I'm such a bad person-_

"I'm not a child!" He snapped. He didn't want pity just because he was sixteen. He could do things by himself. Hell, he could drive if he had a car.

To his surprise, Steve agreed. "No, you're not," he said. "But you're a young man who has just lost everything he knew and had in the world."

These words sunk in far too slowly, like molasses. _Lost everything he had. Lost everything he had. Lost. Everything. Everything lost._

He told himself to pull away-

And found himself sagging forward.

_Why why are you nice to me I'm a terrible person I _killed_ my aunt why why why_-

He dove back to Steve and hid his face again, both ashamed and horrified by his tears. He couldn't do this anymore, he was done, he couldn't…

When Peter came back to himself, Steve's hand was gently rubbing his back, and he sniffed. Exhausted and heart weary, Peter simply let himself go, resting his cheek against Steve's collarbone for a moment in a fit of a childish wish for comfort. He pulled himself out of Steve's arms and tried to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks, but he knew there was a blush there anyway.

"I…" he mumbled. What could he say? _Sorry, I had a nightmare and flipped out and just cried on you for about an hour. My bad. Goodnight!_

Steve seemed to read his mind. "It's okay," he repeated. "It's okay." And, to Peter's surprise, he grabbed the blankets from the bed and pulled them up and around him, like he was tucking Peter in. He rose as if to leave and Peter couldn't help his small start nor the pleading look in his eyes.

_He said I wouldn't be alone he promised he _promised_-_

But it turned out to be a senseless worry, since Steve merely pulled over an armchair, anyway. Catching the look in his eye, Steve reassured soothingly, "It's okay. I'm not going anywhere."

And Peter would have replied, but his body decided that he needed sleep _now_, and before he could think to say thank you, he was asleep.

**...**

"So then what happened?!"

Steve sighed for perhaps the eleventh time that morning, spooning some cereal into his mouth. "He fell asleep, Stark, like a normal person," he said, glaring across the table. "My God, he's not some science experiment!"

Tony was grinning like a cheshire cat. "But you stayed with him, didn't you?" He pressed, tone near an accusation. "Didn't you?!" Steve rolled his eyes, opting not to say anything. Tony pouted, saying, "Aw, Cap too sensitive to play today?"

"No, I refuse to have a battle of wits with an unarmed person. Hurting civilians is something I tend to avoid."

Tony's mouth fell open, and he said (rather maturely for what usually came out of his mouth), "on another subject: I found you a lawyer."

Steve looked up. "Oh?"

Tony shrugged. "Or, rather, JARVIS found you a lawyer, but that doesn't make a difference. I'm telling you Cap; he's one of the best."

Steve's brows furrowed. "Who?"

Tony grinned. "Well, he goes by a couple titles," he said, "but his most common is Matthew Murdock."

**...**

When Peter awoke, he couldn't at first remember the events from last night. It was all incredibly hazy, and Peter couldn't remember what had been said- only that he had woken up afraid, Steve had been there, and Peter had cried for a good while_ all over_ the superhero.

He didn't even know how he had fallen asleep again…

First, there came the inevitable embarrassment that Peter hadn't been able to remain composed in the first place to avoid _crying_, of all things. Then came the mortification that he had sobbed in front of _Captain America_; clung to the superhero like a small child. A kid _half_ his age. God, what had he been thinking?!

Sitting up and rubbing at his irritated eyes, he stretched, heading to his kitchen.

To his surprise, Steve was already there, sitting calmly. Eating pancakes covered in butter and syrup.

Peter couldn't help it; the scene was so reminiscent of the one at the foster home that he couldn't contain his laughter.

Steve looked up at the sound of Peter's chortling, grinning openly, and Peter couldn't help the feeling that here, now, with Steve smiling at him and heart lighter than it had been in ages, here he could be happy and for one split, fleeting second, that was okay. For one perfect moment in time, it was okay for Peter to want that.

Steve wiped his mouth with a napkin and jerked his head, indicating the seat next to him. Peter's face brightened further as he took a seat, tentatively grabbing a couple of pancakes on a plate when he realized he was slightly hungry. It had taken about a week,m but he was finally hungry.

His aunt was still dead, and it didn't make anything okay. This didn't making anything okay. But it made everything a little easier.

Despite the fact that Peter was still alone.

Eating in silence and finally remembering that he had absolutely sobbed all over the superhero last night, Peter kept his eyes down and his shoulders hunched. Embarrassment oozed from his every pore.

Steve, for his part, didn't look perturbed. "So," he started, causing Peter to cringe in expectancy of a scolding, "I know you went to Midtown High, and if you want, we can still make the commute."

_Wait, what?!_

"Uh…" Was all Peter managed.

Steve didn't seem to notice. "Or, of course, we can always enroll you in someplace closer, but I just thought…" He trailed off after seeing the look on Peter's face. "What? What's the matter?"

Peter shook his head, trying to keep the amazed look off his face. He failed. "You...would do that?"

Steve's brows furrowed deeper, and he seemed terribly nervous. His hands were wringing. "Uh, send you to another school? Only if you wanted, I mean-"

"No," Peter clarified, "I mean make the commute to my school. It's like half an hour from here…"

Steve smiled. "Oh, Peter," he said, and sounded so incredibly earnest that Peter couldn't imagine the tone on anyone else than Steve, "of course I would. It's not a big deal."

"But, but…gas, and, and money…" He blushed as soon as he said this though, and Steve snorted.

"We live with a billionaire, kiddo," he said, and Peter nodded. "And if you need to come home early, just call. I'll be there before you can say "Stars and Stripes"."

Peter had forgotten that he didn't have to worry about expenses like that anymore…of course, he didn't want to be a burden... "Hey," Steve chided gently, "none of that. No thinking that you're costly or a waste." Peter blinked at him, speechless. "Yeah, this isn't my first time at the rodeo," Steve said smartly.

Peter raised an eyebrow. "It definitely sounds like the first time you used that expression," he retorted.

Steve smirked. "I may be ninety years old, but you can teach an old dog new tricks."

And Peter wondered idly to himself as he and Steve bantered back and forth if Aunt May was smiling down at them just then.

* * *

**_Right- o! Thanks for reading, please leave me a comment on your thoughts, this is one of the few things in my life I'm actually proud of that I've written and I'd like to hear your opinions!_**


	8. 1st Official Avengers Dinner-Assemble!

_**Hey-a everybody! This is the LONGEST CHAPTER YET with almost 5,000 words, but I feel like 5000 words is a pain in the ass to read, so I try to keep them shorter for your sake. I know we wanted Peter at school, and NEXT CHAPTER, I PROMISE! This chapter is... (Drumroll, someone, please...)**_

_**BONDING TIME OHH YES**_

_**SO ALLONS-Y MY FRIENDS!**_

* * *

Peter finally decided that it was high time that he got to know his housemates better, seeing as he was going to be living with them for at least two years. Deciding that Bruce and Tony, who seemed to be the most mellow (and accepting) of the Avengers so far, he beat down his inner fanboy (who was screaming bloody murder) and was going to find out where they were when a voice stopped him.

_"Can I assist you at all, Mr. Parker?"_ A British voice chimed.

"Uhm…" Peter hesitated. "Yeah. Can you tell me where Tony and Dr. Banner are?"

_"They are in Basement 5, Sir."_

Peter grinned. He couldn't believe this… "Thanks, JARVIS. And please, call me Peter."

_"I'm afraid I'm programmed to call you only Mr. Parker, Mr. Parker."_

Peter's smile faltered, and he became startlingly aware that he was talking to the air. "Right. Thanks, er, JARVIS."

_"Anytime, Sir."_

Taking a deep breath and heading for the elevator, he pressed the button for Basement 5 and tried to quell the butterflies that were fluttering in his stomach. He tapped his foot as he waited, watching as the floor indicator flashed different numbers in red.

_7...6...5._

Sucking up all the courage he could muster at the moment, Peter strode (confidently but not really because hell his knees were wobbling) into the room, only to pause, his mouth hanging open.

He knew Tony Stark was a billionaire; his room and the whole tower was proof of that. But this…

Tony looked up from where he was working on something involving lots of wires (a new suit? Something for the other Avengers?) and grinned, taking off his safety goggles. "Hey, Big Man," he called into the empty room, "look who decided to show up finally? We've got a new science bro! Pete has officially joined the club!"

Sure enough, Bruce's head popped out from where he was bending behind a counter, apparently looking for something (because why else would he be on his knees behind the counter, of all places?) "Hey, Peter," he greeted, raising a hand in hello before diving back to whatever he was doing.

"Hey," he replied, trying not to let his inner fanboying show because _OH MY GOD THIS IS EVEN BETTER THAN DR. CONNORS'S LAB AND THERE ARE NO GIANT LIZARDS HERE TO ATTACK ME AND I'M STANDING WITH BRUCE BANNER AND TONY EFFING STARK AND WHAAAAAAT-_

"-do you think? Amazing?" Tony's voice snapped Peter out of his thoughts and he rubbed the back of his neck, blushing at Tony's knowing look.

"Yeah," Peter breathed, eyes wide as he gazed at the equipment with an awed look, "Hell yeah."

"I know I am, but watch the language, Kid," Tony said sternly, wagging a finger at him. "Or I'll have to tell Steve."

Peter snorted. "Tell him what? That I almost made the mistake of joining your super secret boy band?"

Tony straightened, and looked on at him with a flat face but a somewhat approving light in his eyes. He called to Bruce, "see? Told Fury that it was a boy band! Even the kid agrees!" Then he faltered, turning back to Peter. His eyes narrowed. "Wait- mistake?!"

Peter smirked, turning back to the trinkets he was fiddling with in his hands. These were magnetic accelerators...but why would-?

"Oh yeah," Tony said, coming over to look over Peter's shoulder and the instruments he was holding. "Those are for this." He took them and, wordlessly, a panel popped from the wall, a drink standing on a napkin.

Peter couldn't help the giggle and, feeling bold, asked, "Does it do Pepsi?"

Tony grinned and shook his head. "Sorry Pal, but no."

Peter sighed. "Guess I'll just have to deal with this then," he reasoned, taking the drink from Tony's hand and making like he was going to take a sip. As he predicted, Tony was all over him as soon as he was over the shock of having his drink literally taken right from his hand, pressing a hand against Peter's chest.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, kiddo, not so fast." He took the drink back and downed it one, handing it back to Peter. "On your way up, do me a steadfast and get me another?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry, do I look like a bartender to you?"

Bruce snorted loudly, beginning to cackle. Both Peter and Tony eyed him suspiciously. "What?" Peter asked warily, taking an unconscious step back as Tony placed an arm around Peter's shoulders to keep him still.

"Well, it's a bit of an...initiation, of sorts," Tony began warmly, and Peter was all too aware of Tony's touch beginning to burn from where he was squeezing his shoulder so tightly, "you know, one of those: "Hey, welcome to the neighborhood" shindigs…"

Peter dug his heels into the linoleum flooring, but it did little, because Tony was dragging him along towards where Bruce was anyhow. His Spidey Sense began to tingle in the back of his head. _Yeah, I could have figured that out, but thanks,_ he bit out, clenching his jaw. Tony didn't stop his monologue. "And, well, seeing as you're going to be staying for a quite a while…"

Peter laughed nervously. "Actually I was about to head back upsta-"

"Don't be a moron," Tony smirked, "stay a while. In fact…" Tony's hand tightened somehow further, and Peter thought that if Tony didn't want the suit he didn't need it all, "why don't we just...go back…"

Bruce launched himself, spilling something over Peter's head from what looked like a medical jar. Peter spluttered, the sticky liquid getting into his eyes and ears. "Hey!" He cried, trying to wipe his face but Tony's arms keeping his hands pinned to his sides, "what's the big idea?"

Tony chortled. "Told you you'd need cond-"

But he didn't finish his sentence as Peter squeaked, suddenly going very still. Ugh, that stuff was in his eyes for hell's-

"Hey, hey," Bruce's voice was suddenly very close and extremely gently, "Don't panic. It's not anything; just some melted marshmallows. Calm it down. Deep breaths."

It was only then that Peter realized that his heart was thumping like a rabbit's, his lungs were burning from lack of air, and his legs were trembling so badly he'd probably end up making a very close acquaintance with the floor soon. Peter sucked in a breath, and Tony's actually incredibly comforting voice said in his ear, "you're fine. Relax. No fainting. I don't want that marshmallow shit on my floor."

Peter cracked a smile and he felt a towel swipe over his hair. "So I passed then?" He asked, but the two men currently wiping away the marshmallow only hummed in confusion. "Y'know, initiation. I passed?"

There was a moment of silence, but Peter didn't dare rub his eyes, lest some of that sticky stuff get in his eyes. God knew what it did to eyesight…But by the silence, the looks on their faces must've been priceless. He'd have to ask if JARVIS could play it back later.

"Kid, you're really something," Tony said, and if his tone sounded fond, Bruce and Peter didn't comment. The towel grazed lightly over his eyes.

"Okay," Bruce said, "you can open them now. It's safe."

"I don't know if _safe_ is the right word," Peter said wryly, but opened them anyhow. Bruce was smiling at him and even Tony's mouth was curved at the corners.

"He made me do it!" Bruce cried out, pointing an accusatory finger at Tony. Tony looked appalled.

"I'm never robbing a bank with you," he said sharply, but then his features softened a little into a normal expression. "So, Petey," he said, clapping his hands together and giving him a hunk of metal (that Peter recognized as an Iron Man suit arm) "Let's see what you've got."

Peter failed to notice, so caught up in what he was doing, as Tony swept the project he'd been doing before Peter arrived out of sight.

**...**

Peter went into his backpack, pulling out his schoolwork and trying to determine what he needed for Monday. Sighing and staring at his incomplete physics paper, he absently reached into his empty bag, his hand finding something cool and smooth. Grasping it, his brows furrowing, he pulled out his cellphone.

Blinking and turning it on (it was, miraculously, still charged 16%) he jumped and turned the volume down as he was bombarded with texts. His phone vibrated and spazzed for around five minutes before it settled and Peter had the courage to look at it.

Over fifty new text messages from the last week. Most of them were from Gwen.

_Gwen: Saturday, April 19: Hey, Dad read the paper, wanna know what's up. Call me._

_Gwen: Saturday, April 19: Please Peter; I don't know what's going on._

_Gwen: Sunday, April 20: Peter, call me. I don't know what's going on._

_Gwen: Sunday, April 20: I know you want to stay away from me, but honestly I need to talk to you._

_Gwen: Sunday, April 20: Fine! Be that way. I'm calling you instead._

_Gwen: Sunday, April 20: You have a ridiculous message tone. _

_Gwen: Sunday, April 20: I just want to make sure you're okay._

_Gwen: Monday, April 21: Saw the news. CALL ME._

_Gwen: Monday, April 21: Flash is upset he doesn't have a punching bag, so you better get back here really fast, okay?_

_Gwen: Monday, April 21: CALL. ME._

They went on and on, Gwen telling him what was going on in her life and what was going on at school, what she was doing for weekends and what she was trying to do after school. Almost all of them ended with a _"call me"._

One that Peter found particularly humorous was:

_Gwen: Friday, April 25: Okay Peter. So today Dad said that he was sorry for tazing you and that you- and I quote here- "weren't half bad". He's totally warming up to you. I can see it in his eyes- he secretly likes you. _

_Hoping your okay because YOU STILL HAVEN'T ANSWERED YOUR PHONE. You're so going to get it next time I see you._

Peter sighed and opened his text box, typing:

_Gwen. I'm fine. Don't want to talk about it. Sorry for late response. See you in school on Monday._

His fingers lingered over the call button, but then he heard Tony yell, "Peter?" And he put his phone down, abandoning his physics.

**...**

Dinnertime rolled around astoundingly quickly and Peter tried his best not to fidget, patting at his wild hair for the fifteenth time. Steve raised his eyebrows, stifling a chuckle. Peter glared and hid his hands in his pockets, as his fingers were trembling.

Striding into the elevator and standing next to Steve, Peter scuffed his feet a little, ducking his head to hide his blush. "Uh," he started, and was aware that the startlingly blue gaze was focused entirely on him, "I just wanted to thank you. For the other night."

_Oh God, his cheeks were on fire._

Steve grinned brightly at him, and it astounded Peter that someone who had been through so much could still smile like the world was his own. Steve wrapped an arm around Peter's shoulders, and Peter found himself (only slightly, he told himself) leaning into the touch. "You're going to fit right in," he said, quietly but confidently.

And then the elevator doors dinged, and the moment was over.

Peter found himself dreading each step going forward. Sure, Tony and Bruce had seemed fine enough, but what if that was all just something to make him feel comfortable, and they didn't actually care?

He dismissed this notion. _ Jeez, Parker,_ he said to himself,_ you need to stop with the theatrics. Their fine. They like you fine. Now stop it._

To his surprise, his inner nagging voice silenced, but he was sure it was only for a while. Nevertheless, it was a nice break from being bashed around all the time by his thoughts.

Steve lead him (his arm still around his shoulders, Peter noted, but found he didn't mind so much) into a huge room, a kitchen on the right and a living room on the left. Plush white carpeting covered all the floors but the kitchen, which was a beautiful tile. There stood an incredibly long table with eight chairs around it, a spare disregarded in the corner. On the furthest wall it wasn't really a wall at all; there were floor length windows spanning all across it as one huge viewing point, overlooking the whole city. Peter found his breath stolen.

_Webslinging without the work. _He marveled to himself. _Holy moly; this is amazing!_

"...arker." Steve finished saying, and Peter snapped out of his thoughts, turning. He blanched as he saw two equally striking women standing in front of him; a curvy one with short, flame red hair, and the other taller and slimmer, but nonetheless elegant with pin straight blonde.

He held up a hand bashfully. "Hi."

The blonde one grinned so widely that Peter found himself mirroring it. She rushed forward and offered a hand, which Peter took gently. Her hand was so delicate, like bird's bones; he was afraid to break her. "Hello there Peter," she said warmly, and her brown eyes were like melted chocolate. Peter found the tension easing from his shoulders already. "I'm Pepper Potts, the CEO of Stark Industries. It's so great to meet you," she said, and sounded earnest, her eyes sparkling.

Peter laughed breathlessly. "Yeah, you- you too, I mean, I-"

"And I'm Natasha," the other said, her face slack. "Natasha Romanoff." Her tone was calculated, measured in the way only a self assured spy could be. Peter deduced she was some form of government agent, maybe FBI or CIA.

"Nice to meet you, Natasha Romanoff," he replied. "I'd say my name, but that'd be repetitive, so…" He trailed off awkwardly, and Pepper laughed, hugging him around the shoulders.

"I love him," she said simply, her dimples showing because she was smiling so hard. He found that instead of the touch being uncomfortable, it was heartwarming. He didn't quite know why though, because everyone else who had tried to make contact with him (Kim, mostly) felt wrong and made him cringe.

He noticed Natasha Romanoff's eyes crinkle in the corners.

"He's not that bad, for a teenager," she allowed, and Peter smiled.

"You're not that bad, for a redhead," he retorted, and she made a face.

"Got a problem with redheads?" She asked darkly, doing nothing but laying a hand on her gun. He could tell she was merely kidding, though, and he smirked.

"They're a dying race," he mourned, laying a hand over his heart. Pepper giggled and Steve rolled his eyes as Tony stared at Peter.

"Do you know how long it took me to get her to giggle with me like that?" He asked, sounding aggravated. "Like, a long time! And you come waltzing in here and get her to do it in under three minutes?!"

Pepper smirked, taking the drink out of Tony's hand and putting it down the furthest she could from him. "That's because he's not a jackass," she said smugly, passing by him and taking her seat at the dining room table. Tony shot Peter a joking glare, and Bruce winked at him.

Peter sat between Bruce and Steve, his eyebrows raising at the well-cooked chicken sitting in front of him. Taking a piece and spooning some peas and carrots onto his plate, he asked, "who…?"

Bruce chuckled. "I'm good for more than science, you know," he said, and Peter grinned. There was silence for around five minutes as everyone began to eat, and then Pepper broke it.

"So, Peter," she asked. "Where are you from?"

Peter felt a small pang in his heart, but the hollowness in his chest seemed to dim fractionally. "Forest Hills, Queens. Or at least, that's where I lived."

Pepper nodded, folding her hands under her chin. "And school, were do you go?"

Peter smiled. "Midtown High?"

Pepper nodded, face brightening. "Right! Right, I do know where that is. Are you still going there now that you live here?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah; we were actually just discussing it the other day. We decided it would be easier."

Clint swallowed and waved a fork at him. Peter raised an eyebrow. "Hobbies?" He asked, and Peter shrugged.

Tony began to laugh, first quietly and then full out hysterically, and winced a couple times before ceasing, shooting Pepper a look from across the table. Her questioning expression was too innocent.

The people turned towards Peter, who blushed. "Well," he started, racking his brain, "I really like science, and- erm- building things. I skateboard and just generally exercise a lot, too. I just sort of...wander around too, explore and stuff." _ And Web-sling, but...y'know._

Natasha smirked. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

Silence as inquiring heads turned once again in his direction. Peter rubbed the back of his head absently. "Erm," he said, "It's...complicated…"

Clint gave a guffaw. "It's always complicated, Squirt," he said, and Peter wrinkled his nose at the nickname, "but surely it can't be that complicated."

Steve muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "everything is complicated in the modern world…"

Peter had to bite his tongue hard to resist the urge to say, w_ell I'm a masked vigilante who goes out and saves people on a nightly basis and I sneak into her room where she patches me up and I nearly got her and her father killed after I accidentally helped unravel a formula made by my father that helped create a huge giant lizard thing which then proceeded to nearly kill her and turn New York into a new lizard- race. Then her father made me promise to stay away from her with his dying breath but it's okay because he's alive and she hasn't spoken to me in weeks and I'm avoiding her terribly. But nah, it's not that complicated at all._

Instead he chuckled humorlessly, saying, "you don't know the half of it."

Pepper batted Clint's arm. "Stop it," she scolded. "You don't ask a man about his romantic life after he clearly doesn't want to talk about it!"

Natasha crossed her arms over her chest. "I'll bet she's redhead," she remarked smartly.

Tony raised his eyebrows. "You trying to tell us you want to be his type, Tash?" He asked, and she shot the playboy a look.

"Ew, Tony."

"I'm just wondering if maybe you're into that older woman- younger man thing-"

"Tony!"

"Please, can we change the topic please?"

"Honestly though, Pep, how old do you think Thor is? His girl is like, what, twenty?"

"Oh jeez-"

"Here it is again! Can we have a break from his rambling for at least five minutes?"

"She's twenty five, idiot, and her name is Jane."

"Shut up, Tweety!"

"Don't call me Tweety, Tin Can!"

"Can we just-"

"What, Esky, this dinner talk doesn't tickle your fancy?"

"..._Tickle my fancy? _What is that even supposed to mean?"

"Y'know. Isn't that what they said in the old days, Grandpa?"

"I'm younger than you!"

"He's right!"

"Thanks, Purple Pants, I figured."

"Always here to help."

"You know, I think it's hilarious that Steve is technically seventy years your senior and is still better looking than you. You should take Steve instead, Pepper."

"...Natasha Romanoff, just because you're a girl doesn't mean I won't hit you."

"Tony!"

"It's true!"

"I'm sorry, but I don't believe in hitting little girls."

"Below the belt."

"Too bad. You're a big boy. Grow up."

"..."

"EW, TONY!"

And sitting there, surrounded by his bickering and quirky new family, Peter felt content.

**...**

The rest of the weekend passed by in a blur, Peter being pulled this way and that and too tired by the end of the day to go web slinging at all. Tony had constantly kept him busy in the lab. Now though, Peter locked the door to his room behind him, pulling out a suitcase from under the bed, freezing when he remembered something.

"JARVIS?" He cautioned at the ceiling, and his heart sank when he received an answer.

_"Yes, Mr. Parker?"_

Swallowing, Peter asked, "so, can Steve or- or the other Avengers see into my room through you or- or something?"

"_No, Sir. Mr Rogers disabled the recording devices in your bedroom and bathrooms on your first night here."_

Peter couldn't help his sigh of relief. Thank God that they hadn't heard his breakdown that first night… "Right," Peter said. "Can they access my room? Like, tune in on the recording even though it's been disabled?"

_"No, Sir. Floor Nine is under your primary command; if you forbid it, they cannot access the locked systems. There is a master override, but it is only activated during an emergency."_

Peter took a deep breath, allowing the information to sink in a bit. "Okay. Well...I forbid it. If I lock the system will I still be able to talk to you?"

_"Yes, Sir. I am accessible in all points of the tower no matter how one locks it."_

Peter exhaled, shoulders slumping. As much as he wanted his privacy, JARVIS was dead helpful. "On another topic: Do you have any awesome hiding places, JARVIS? Someplace that not many people know about or will visit a lot?"

_"Hiding places, Mr Parker?"_

Peter gulped, praying that JARVIS couldn't assume things. "Yeah, like places to put..trinkets and stuff in." He was, of course, thinking of his web shooters and his suit.

To his surprise, JARVIS answered, "_Yes, Sir, in fact I do. Mr. Stark installed a sliding panel from your wall for you to contain things in."_

"Trigger it, please."

Soundlessly, a silver panel popped out of his left bedroom wall, big enough to house everything he needed but small enough to be easy to reach and subtle should anyone go looking. Peter grinned. "Wow. That's...actually perfect, JARVIS. Why would Tony install this for me, though?"

If JARVIS could shrug, his tone suggested he'd be doing it. _"I do not know Mr. Stark's motivations most of the time, Mr Parker._"

Peter sighed. "Right-o. Thanks again, JARVIS."

_"Anytime Sir."_

Peter took a deep breath, glancing towards the door and realizing that he wasn't done with the British butler yet. "JARVIS?" He asked again, and JARVIS seemed to sigh. "Sorry, but I need a few more things. Is there a security camera outside my window?"

_"Yes, Sir."_

"Alright. I'm going to jump out this window, and I need you to run it on a loop for thirty seconds. Got me?"

_"I am not sure this is the wisest choice of action, Sir. If you are experiencing suicidal tend-"_

"No, JARVIS," he said blankly, deadpanning, "What could have possibly given you that idea?"

JARVIS seemed to give up. _"I don't know, Sir. Intuition."_

"And can you sense when I come into the general vicinity of ho- Avengers Tower?" Peter inquired, eyes narrowing as he grew serious again.

_"I cannot sense you, Mr. Parker, but I can track your heat signature and determine an accurate location approximately one hundred feet around the circumference of this tower."_

"Brilliant. When you sense me close enough, run another loop of the camera footage. And if Steve or Tony or any of them ask…" Peter hesitated. "I'm...asleep or in the shower or something. Don't unlock that door for anything."

_"Of course, Mr. Parker."_

Well, this had worked out quite well, Peter thought privately to himself as he gracefully flipped onto the window, pulling on his mask and tugging it over his chin. He was set with security footage, had an alibi by JARVIS, didn't have any set place to be in the morning (beside school, but who cared about that?) and, although his aunt was dead, life wasn't bashing him around like it usually was.

But even as he took to the skies, the heaviness of his heart seemed to weigh him down when web swinging.

* * *

**_Well. Tony and Bruce's prank. How'd we like that, eh?_**

**_And Natasha/Peter banter in there. How was it? Good? Bad? DID ANYONE CATCH MY REDHEAD FORESHADOW COMMENT? _**

**_Thanks for reading, comment, favorite, the works! See y'all next week for some more Superfamily fun!_**

**_BY THE WAY, I'D ABSOLUTELY LOVE SOME FANART IF ANY OF YOU ARE INTERESTED! So go ahead Superfamily fans...go for it. Just send me the links! :D_**


	9. Return to Hell

**_Once again thank you all so much for your feedback! I just want to say that I got a review saying that in a story called "Great Grandpa Cap" the heat signature and looping idea was used also. I just want to let everyone know that it wasn't intentional- I actually had no idea that the story even existed- and that I wasn't plagiarizing in any way. :)_**

**_IcePhoenix2112- you might just be onto something. No spoilers, but...keep it in mind._**

**_shipNslash: I just want to personally thank you for all the feedback I've gotten from you since like, the beginning. Your reviews always make me smile._**

* * *

_Alright, it's the night before I have to go back to school, so someone...give me something to work with..._

As if hearing his want, a bank alarm rang clear through the night, and Peter allowed himself a small grin as he swung towards the noise. Gracefully flipping and landing on the side of a building silently, Peter observed through the pale, wide eyes of his mask the two forms of what looked like O'Hirn and Marko. Smiling and clearing his throat, he did a flip down to the ground, landing in a crouching position and saying amusedly, "Well, I didn't take you for the deposit type, but I guess everyone has a secret hobby!"

The two thugs turned and Peter had been right; they were both Alexander O'Hirn and Flint Marko. His brows furrowed, Spidey called, "what could two idiots like you possibly want with money-" he gestured to the full bags of money they held, "like this? Who are you working for?"

"That ain't your business, Bug, and we're the ones robbin' for our own," O'Hirn sneered, and Spider-Man rolled his eyes.

"Pfft, please. You two aren't smart enough to figure out how to open a jar by yourselves, much less almost successfully rob a bank." He paused, then said, "well, it'll hurt my feelings if you don't share your little secret sponsor, and we don't want that, now do we? We're all for including people in the criminal career!"

Marko- a common street thug- snorted. He wasn't the brightest light bulb in the closet, Peter gave him this. "Almost? Look at this score!" He held up his three bags of money. "And the Big Man ain't your business, as we said. So get lost, Freak! Our score is our own!"

Spider-Man laughed outright. "Gosh, your IQ must be worse than usual- tell me, is something going around? Is it contagious?" To support this claim, he backed up a few steps. "Because if it is," he continued, "I should probably just book the both of you now, before you lower the intelligence of the whole city."

O'Hirn's brows furrowed. "What does that have to do with anything?" He rumbled, and Peter scoffed.

"Well, for starters," said Spider-Man, "it makes it easier for me to do this!" In one swift movement, he had shot webs from his wrists and yanked the bags of money away from the both of them. With cries of outrage, both turned to flee, but Spider-Man was too quick. He leapt ahead of them and twisted in the air with ease, landing gracefully in front of them and webbing them quickly to the wall. Smirking, he webbed both their mouths shut for good measure.

"Now, now, don't struggle," he scolded, wagging a finger at them as they squirmed (from ten feet above the ground), "not sure how well that webbing will hold your combined weight. Oh, and when your bail is paid again," he said, turning, "tell whoever you work for I'm gonna figure things out!"

Peter stopped a few robberies and couple muggings but nothing incredibly interesting occurred after them, and he arrived home in record time- 1:03 A.M. Sighing and easing out of his suit, he threw on some pajamas and brushed his teeth, eyes drooping. Did he have homework? Probably. Did he care at, what- 1:14 in the morning?

No.

Flopping onto his bed, he barely had time to pull the covers up over his body before his eyes were shutting completely, sleep washing over him in a wave.

He was too exhausted for nightmares.

**...**

"_Mr. Parker…"_

_…_

_"Mr. Parker…"_

_…_

_"Mr. Parker…"_  
_…_

_"Mr Parker, Mr. Stark has finally lost his patience and has ordered me to replay this: "PETER GET YOUR ASS OUT OF BED YOU'RE GOING TO BE LATE FOR SCHOOL I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE A TEENAGER GET UP!""_

At the recorded scream (which echoed quite loudly in the room), Peter sprang forth from his covers, sticking to the ceiling and whipping his head around in panic. Gulping in air, he gasped, "JARVIS, what time is it?!"

_"7:12 A.M., Sir."_

"Dammit," he cursed, finding himself lucky that he had been so tired he'd forgotten to take off his web shooters last night. Webbing open drawers and bringing clothing to himself by flicking his wrist, Peter brushed his teeth, got dressed, slipped into his sneakers and grabbed a muffin from the kitchen all in under five minutes.

Running to the elevator and skidding to a stop, he shouted at the ceiling, "THANKS TONY BY GUYS SEE YOU LATER CAN STILL CATCH A BUS!"

JARVIS began speaking, but Peter didn't hear his response, running out the front doors and sprinting a couple blocks. Once he was sure the security cameras wouldn't pick him up, he leapt, taking to the skies and trying to ignore the ogling from the blurred people below.

_At least they can't see my face_, he thought, smiling as he saw his school bus caught in normal New York City traffic_. At this rate, I'll get to school early_. He shuddered.

Webslinging into an alley around a block away from Midtown High, Peter shoved his web shooters into his backpack and started off down the street, checking his watch. 7: 21. He still had time.

Walking and trying to put a bounce in his step, he pushed all thoughts of his family and Spider-Man issues from his mind; today, he was just normal ol' Peter Parker, going to school. (Especially because he had just missed the last week or so, and he figured it was important that he go for at least a week straight.)

Sighing and pushing his way through the throng of students with his head down, he tried to ignore the eyes he felt on his back that followed him and the mouths that fell open when he passed his peers. _Yeah, Peter Parker is back in school,_ he thought, his blood beginning to boil, _real crazy occurrence._ But you know, it only happens every so often, like New York being pummeled by supervillains.

Sarcasm was a blessing, at least.

"Hey, Parker!" Was distinguishable over the din of the students, and Peter gritted his teeth. As much as Flash Thompson was trying to be a little nicer after Peter had stood up for himself, he still wasn't such a pleasant person to be around, and Peter really didn't have the patience for him today. "Parker, wait up!" Peter rolled his eyes. "Peter, wait."

He froze.

...Did Eugene "Flash" Thompson just use his _name_? His _first_ name? He didn't even think Flash _knew_ his first name.

And then suddenly Flash was next to him, and Peter was resigned to his fate. "Hey, Flash," he greeted quietly, shoulders slumping. He didn't have the need to fight anymore. Not for himself, at least. When Flash didn't reply, Peter tried again.

"Hey, Eugene," he mumbled, his hair falling into his eyes. If Flash was upset by the use of his given name, he didn't show it.

"Hey, Peter," he returned, but it felt more like an agreement. They both stood there in silence, waiting for the other to say something and knowing somehow that they wouldn't, but Peter felt the way that Flash's body radiated _sorrow_ and _sympathy_ but no _pity_, because somehow he knew that Peter hated pity and would accept none from his former bully. The bell rang but neither moved, and students were forced to shuffle around them.

"Hey, Parker," he said, clapping Peter's shoulder as the moment was broken, "I'm real sorry about your aunt."

And then he too disappeared into the building, and Peter had to close his eyes and take a few deep breaths to keep his composure_. Steady, Parker. You've still got a ways to go._

**_..._**

First and second period passed without incident, his teachers excusing him from the homework he'd missed, which was admittedly nice of them, but Peter couldn't appreciate it. It was pity, firstly, and he'd give anything for pounds and pounds of homework if it would bring Aunt May back.

Disaster struck at fourth period lunch, when he was at his locker doing his best to make it through the day. His hands shook and his whole body trembled, and actual tendrils of pain were shooting through his chest. He recalled the words when he and Steve had been talking, and was actually seriously considering calling him to just go...home. Home.

_He didn't he couldn't be here any more he had to escape it was too soon it-_

"Peter?"

He whirled around, and his stomach dropped in pure dread.

Gwen Stacy's hair was impeccable as always, her eyes shining and her lips glossy. She was dressed like she usually did; cute but sharp skirt, tights, a button down shirt and a headband in her hair. She cleared her throat and shuffled her feet, eyes aflame with suppressed rage.

He gulped. "Hey, Gwen," he replied weakly.

She took a deep breath. Peter felt guilt gnaw at his heart. "I cannot believe," she gritted out, "that you ignored my texts. For a week. Seven- no- eight freaking days, Peter. I had no idea where the hell you were, if you were dead, if you weren't...And then I get one fucking text saying 'I don't want to talk about it'? Are you kidding me?!"

Peter winced, cringing. Gwen didn't raise her voice, but stood with her hands clenched at her sides, her face red and her eyes wide. This scared him. The fact that she wasn't screaming at him and hitting him scared him. He didn't know how to react to this. She also didn't usually curse, and that made him more alert to the danger he was actually in than anything else might have.

He used the first response that came to mind and hung his head. "Sorry," he mumbled, and this seemed to immediately soften her.

She sighed. "My- er, my father's doing b-better," she said. "He's-uh- out of the hospital and he's going back to- to work in a month or so, so…"

Peter closed his eyes. George Stacy had lived through the injuries the Lizard had inflicted upon him, but barely, and was lucky to be alive. He had been down for the count for about six months, though, and for a long while people feared for his life. He realized too late that he had been silent for too long. "That's great, Gwen," he enthused, summoning a smile. "That's really, really great."

Gwen flushed. "Thanks, Peter," she mumbled, but then sobered quite a lot. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. "I- I heard about Aunt May," she admitted tearfully. "Oh Peter, I- I'm so, so sorry- if there's something I can do or- or maybe-"

Peter smiled, but his lips refused to fully curl into the proper position, so it looked pathetic. "Thanks," he said, and his voice shook.

Gwen bit her lip and smudged some of her lip gloss. Peter refused the urge to wipe it away. "But- but maybe we could be- again, I mean, my father-" but then her eyes widened and she covered her mouth in apparent horror. "Oh my God, Peter, I'm so sorry- that's so insensitive of me, thinking of myself when- oh God, Peter, I'm so so sorry I-"

"Gwen," he interrupted, a faded chuckle in his voice. "It's okay." He paused and beat down the feeling in his heart. "But...I'm sorry. I promised your father, and...And it's just too dangerous. What if some crazy supervillain found out and managed to kill you?" He shook his head. "I'm...really, really sorry."

She sniffed and summoned a smile, but her tears spilled over her cheeks. "That's alright, Peter, that's...yeah. Yeah." She wiped her nose on her sleeve, sniffing again. "But maybe we could be, maybe," she muttered, looking up at him through tear coated lashes, "still be friends?"

His soul soared. "I...yeah," he said breathlessly. "Friends."

_Peter, if there is one thing that you are it is good._

He took a deep breath and beamed at Gwen, and a grin slowly stretched across her features. Subconsciously, she gave a little skip as she sidled up next to him, looking up at him with bright green eyes. "Great, because I have so much to ask and talk about. Peter, I looked all over the place for a- a funeral, but…"

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Was private. Just me."

Her chin wobbled, and she blinked at him. "Erm- if, er, if you need a place to stay," she said, suddenly incredibly timid, "I can- uh- well, my dad would be okay with it if that's something you're wondering, and we have a guest room, and I just-"

"I'm really okay," Peter said gently, and Gwen's jaws snapped shut with an audible clink. He smiled at her. "Actually, I've been- I mean, I…" He took a deep breath. "Been adopted."

Gwen stopped, tugging on his hand to stop him as well. He did so with little resistance. Her hand was warm and soft and just like he remembered. Her breath hitched. "Oh, Peter…"

Adopted. He had been adopted.

"By Steve Rogers," he added, and any and all sadness vanished from Gwen's face. Peter mentally face palmed.

"You mean," Gwen said slowly, "that you've been adopted by Captain America?!" Peter nodded, and she burst into laughter. Peter's brows furrowed. "Spider-Man has been adopted," she hiccuped, "by Captain America! Oh, now you're going to tell me you live in Avengers Tower, right?!"

Peter nodded numbly, blinking at his not-girlfriend, who bent over and cackled. It didn't register that she was still clutching his hand. Peter wondered idly to himself if there was a reason Gwen was having these particularly violent mood swings. "Gwen, are you okay?" He asked, and Gwen wiped at her eyes, but one look at his face set her off again, and she was practically on the floor, tears pouring from her eyes because of her laughter. This went on for about five minutes before she'd collected herself enough to speak.

"Yeah, sorry about that," she said, giggling. Peter's eyes narrowed as Gwen's eyes were still watery.

Her face crumpled and he panicked, arms coming up to her shoulders. She buried her face in his shoulder and let out a small sob. Bewildered, he pulled her to his chest. "I didn't know where you were," she cried into his shirt. "I didn't- you could've been dead and we'd heard about Aunt May and Peter, I was so worried, I was so, so worried you'd gone and done something stupid because for someone so smart you really are an idiot and then- and-"

"Shh," he soothed, stroking her hair and resting his cheek atop her head. She smelled like strawberries. "I know, Gwen. I'm so sorry."  
They stayed curled together in the middle of the hallway for a few minutes before Gwen collected herself once more and extracted herself from his embrace. She was smiling. Peter was baffled. "Thanks, Bugboy. C'mon. I'm hungry." Then, like nothing had happened, she skipped off to lunch.

Peter resolved to one day research women and mood swings, but he was too focused on catching up to Gwen's retreating figure to really note it.

Gwen chattered about this and that as they walked, saying, "oh, and by the way Peter, a new kid came in on Monday. What's his name? Senior, you'd like him I think. He always has as bad a mouth as you!"

Peter tilted his head. "What's his name?"

Gwen's nose scrunched a little, and Peter had to restrain himself from kissing it. "Uh, something strange; unique I mean. Was it...Walt? Wes?" She paused, then her face cleared. "Oh, I remember: It was Wade. Wade Wilson."

**...**

After school found him scot-free and incredibly bored, wishing to do something. After shooting a text to Steve about studying at the library with friends, he ran to a backway alley and slipped off his clothes, webbing his backpack to the fire escape. Pulling on his mask, he took to the skies.

He swung four blocks before he heard the scream. Following his ears, he came to an alley where a mugger was brandishing a knife at a young woman. The mugger was wearing a mask, but the snarl was clear in his voice.

"Just gimme the purse 'fore I gotta hurt ya," he said gruffly, grabbing the woman's arm and whipping her around, slamming her into one of the walls of the alley. Peter heard her head make connection with the concrete wall with a sickening crunch.

Anger licked his insides, white hot and simmering as it rushed into his veins. With a growl he jumped down from his perch, but the "common mugger" seemed to know more defensive combat moves than he had originally thought, as he flipped over Peter's head with ease. Clenching his fists and swinging (but missing), Spider-Man said, "well, isn't purse-snatching a last resort? Like," he dodged the fist that came flying and aimed a kick to the chest, "in the criminal world, I thought that there were standards. Purse snatching is only just above rape, isn't it?"

The man ignored him as they continued to battle back and forth in a twisted, morbid dance, twirling around each other. This should be easy. Why wasn't this easy?

The woman screamed something he couldn't make out- either stop or cop or something along those lines- but his attention was diverted for a split second before his Spidey Sense was yowling at him, and pain blossomed from his arm. With a hiss, his head whipped around as he glanced at his arm, which was oozing blood.

Gritting his teeth, Peter forced a laugh. "Wow, good one," he said, flipping over the man's head and webbing the knife away, "but I'd say beginner's luck, because clearly you have no idea about how to properly commit a crime. Broad daylight, really?!" He shook his head. "Shameful! You know, if you weren't already hiding your face, I'd give you the advice to! But you're probably ugly in the first place, so…"

Jumping onto a fire escape and webbing the man's foot, he pulled the struggling, writhing person around fifteen feet in the air, allowing his to dangle upside down.

"Now, I have no idea how the police will get you out of this position," he said, tossing the purse back to the stunned woman, "but know that if I catch you purse-snatching again, it'll be fifty feet up and a painful, crunching landing. _Capiche_?"

He slung away before the man could answer.

**...**

Meanwhile, a man in a red mask stood atop a roof, observing the suited vigilante silently. After a moment, he let out a deep, hearty chuckle. "Oh, he's good," he said to himself, a smile stretching across his lips. He glanced at his watch, then cursed under his breathe. "Going to be late at this rate," he mumbled, taking out his cane and quickly throwing back his hood. "Dammit," he said, throwing on his glasses, "My appointment is in ten minutes."

Throwing open the roof door, he bound down the stairs with an elegance that belied his body and pulled off his mask, shoving it into his inner suit pocket. Hailing his partner (who, for once, had decided he'd cooperate with him), he felt his way into the car, and Foggy said, "So where the hell are we going now?"

He smiled. "Stark Tower, Foggy."

Foggy's nose crinkled. "Tony Stark," he said. "What could you want with that guy?"

The lawyer gave a half hearted shrug. "Client."

Foggy snorted. "Do we get actual money this time, Hot Shot?" He challenged, and Matt Murdock smirked.

"Just drive, will you? I would, but I have trouble reading the traffic signs."

With a sigh, Foggy put the car into drive and pulled down the street, leaving screech marks in the pavement.

* * *

_**Yeah I know; all of you are a bit like O.O... with all the people I've just thrown at you, but hopefully in the next few chapters things will make more sense. Thanks again for reading and please leave me a comment on your thoughts! Did we like the banter? **_

_**ALSO! I have a tumblr, if anyway is interested in stalking me, and the link can be found on my profile!**_


	10. Do You Have Any Tall Windows?

_**Hello my friendly fanfictioners! Here is the next chapter. Thanks for the feedback, reviews, and follows and all the support I've gotten for this story. It definitely makes it easier to write it.**_

_**Also: This chapter is sort of...bouncy, like a little hard to keep up with, but in the end I was happy about it.**_

_**(Danny Fowl the Ranger: I do know that Wade is disfigured, but not to worry, I have a solution. Thanks for your review and letting me know!)**_

* * *

Peter made his way into Avenger's Tower slowly, footfalls heavy.

The knife wound gave a nasty throb, and Peter swallowed back the need to throw up. The world seemed a little off its axis, now that he was thinking about it...like it was tilting one way and Peter was tilting the other…

The elevator doors opened and he quickly dropped his bag by them, making his way to the kitchen. He was feeling a little hot and feverish if he was being honest with himself, and his stomach felt like he hadn't eaten in ages. He had a tingly feeling in the back of his head, but it was only one of those dull sensations that you had when the makings of a headache were starting, and so he didn't listen to it. If it was his Spidey Sense, it was probably warning him about the loss of blood under his dark hoodie.

Walking past the living room and directly to the kitchen, he was about to open the refrigerator when Steve's voice stopped him. "Peter? Come in here, please?"

Sighing and glancing longingly at the fridge, Peter turned and did so-

only to stop directly in his tracks.

Steve, Tony, and another man Peter had never met were all bent over the coffee table, and all looked up as he entered. He swallowed, and the smartly dressed stranger's eyes widened.

"You're- you're-" he spluttered, and Tony's breath stuttered.

"The teen we were talking about, yes," he said, standing and clearing his throat. "Peter, come here," he said, smiling in a gritted way that said "don't ask, play along". He held out his arm for Peter to duck under and so Peter did hesitantly, sitting down between Steve and Tony. He resisted the urge to grab one of their arms just to make that sure that the world wasn't actually tipping...

The man in the suit cleared his throat. "Hello there Sp- spry youngster, I'm Matthew Murdock," he greeted, offering his hand. Peter stuck out his own and grasped the hand suspended in the air. To his surprise, the man squeezed with more than the average amount of strength (enough to break bones, actually) but Peter's were strong and only his knuckles cracked. Matthew Murdock didn't react, only loosened his grip and pulled his hand away.

It was then Peter got the feeling that he had sensed this man before, and two seconds later realized why he was memorable. This Matthew Murdock was blind.

"As a matter of fact, Peter and I have met," Mr. Murdock said evenly, and it was then Peter's Spider Sense buzzed at him. Loudly.

"I'm sorry, do we know each other?" He asked politely, but his eyes narrowed.

Mr. Murdock gave a hearty laugh. "Indeed we do," he assured, but Peter could sense the cleverness in the words and the sweetness of lying on Matthew's tongue.

"Really? Because I'm running through the list of blind people I know...which is none."

"Peter!" Steve immediately scolded, and Peter had the decency to blush. He still felt like everything was muted and distant, though. "Don't be rude. I'm very sorry about that, Mr. Murdock."

Matthew smiled pleasantly. "Quite alright," he said pointedly, opening his briefcase and pulling out papers. "Let's get started, though."

Tony's face was stern. "Yeah, Peter, don't be rude," he repeated, before nodding at Mr. Murdock. "Now, let's see here…"

Steve's jaw clenched and his eyes flashed. He said warningly, "Tony…"

Matthew Murdock was displaying an incredible amount of patience. "It's alright. Let's just get this over with."

Peter pursed his lips. "I _see_ your point," he agreed.

Tony was unable to hide his smirk. "This exchange was incredibly _envisionable_…"

Steve gave a long suffering groan. "Oh...my...God…"

Mr. Murdock was silent for a few long seconds. Then, he wordlessly rose from his chair, sidestepped the coffee table expertly, and promptly struck both Peter and Tony with the cane he carried. They both gave cries of outrage, rubbing the backs of their heads, their faces scrunching.

Mr. Murdock calmly sat back down. "Well, now that we're all done being children," he said, "let's do this. Mr. Rogers, we have your signature?"

Steve nodded, back straightening. "It's all there."

Murdock nodded. "Mr. Parker," he said, "all we need is for you-" he slid a piece of paperwork across the table so it was in front of the teen, "to sign this."

Peter stared down at the paper, suddenly feeling very lost. Steve must've sensed his hesitation, because he wrapped an arm about Peter's shoulders and gave them a comforting squeeze.

"Your last name is your own," he said softly in Peter's ear, and Peter exhaled a little, the nervous fleeting. "You're so brave, Peter," he whispered, and for some reason it made Peter feel braver. If Steve believed he was brave, then he would be.

Taking a deep breath and grabbing the pen, which didn't seem to sit right in his hand, he bit his lip, writing his signature in neat script on the dotted line.

x Peter Benjamin Parker.

Tony took the pen from him and signed his name under second legal guardian. x Anthony Stark.

Mr. Murdock grabbed the papers, smiling. "Well, that's all finished and out of the way," he said cheerfully, but Peter was having trouble concentrating and felt a little like he'd throw up. He excused himself as politely as he could without words; then, without looking back, he fled to the kitchen.

**...**

Oh God, where were the bathrooms in this place again? Peter opened almost every door.

_Nope, pantry. Nope, closet. Nope, don't even want to know what that is. Is that a weapons room? No Peter, stay on track and don't throw up on the nice floors; look at weapons later_. Seriously, where were the restrooms in the Avengers Tower? Did Tony purposely hide them for his own sadistic pleasure?

He got to the bathroom at last, locked the door behind him, and threw up the contents of his stomach. It was the anxiety, it was getting to him... He knew a lot of people who had troubles with anxiety, getting to the point of not being able to eat or sleep, but he wasn't that bad… Was he? At second glance to the toilet, maybe he was.

Peter wiped his mouth and stood on shaking legs. He cupped water from the sink into his hands, drank that, and then rinsed out his mouth with the mouthwash sitting in the cabinet over the sink. His throat felt as though it was burned raw and his hands wouldn't stop shaking. What was wrong with him? He had just been adopted by Captain America and Iron Man! He should be celebrating, not throwing up.

But he couldn't celebrate. His grief weighed him down like an anchor, constantly pressing into his life. It was always there, always making him remember that Aunt May was dead. For good. And he had no true family left. No blood relatives to tell him about his parents or what he was like when he was little. Peter Parker was the last Parker standing.

A thought came to mind and it took everything Peter had to not vomit again- what if Steve died? What if Tony died? What if all the Avengers died?! It could happen_- had nearly happened in the Battle of Manhattan-_

He blood froze in his veins. If they died, who would he have left in the world? He would just be an orphan. Sure, he was Spider-Man, but he had no family; superpowers were no comparison to having a family. He would be alone. Just like he always was nowadays.

Peter leaned against the door, slowly letting himself fall to the ground. He realized belatedly that he was having a panic attack and he couldn't breathe, but the fact that he couldn't breathe made him panic further, which wasn't helping. He tried to stand but his legs had turned to mush; he tried to shout, but his throat had closed up, making his eyes water because _oh good God,_ _he couldn't talk again._

**...**

"Peter? Are you okay in there? You've been in there for like ten minutes. You feeling alright?" Natasha Romanoff asked, knocking on the bathroom door softly. Of all the places to leave Bruce's newest toy for her, a sleek and small gun disguised as a lipstick (in her shade, too!) that actually worked, a bathroom was not the smartest place. And the youngest member of the (strange, dysfunctional, but strangely warm) family was silent and unresponding.

She could just barely make out small, short breaths on the other side of the door. Besides that, nothing. Panic set in, causing her heart to seize. Was Peter okay? Had someone broken in and hurt him, leaving him for dead? No, that was impossible; JARVIS would have said. But still. Anger washed over her in a surprisingly huge wave, wiping out her concern for her weapon and leaving only a bemused but stern need to protect in its place. It wasn't easy to worm one's way into her heart, but Peter Parker had done it like it was nothing, dripping through the cracks in her armor somehow. And something she established right then and there: no one hurt Peter Parker. He was one of them now, one of the family. And no one hurt her family.

"Peter, if you don't open the door, I will kick it down. So if you can't open the door, move out of the way," she warned, silently giving him a count of thirty. Shifting noises were heard, which meant that no one had harmed him too badly that he couldn't move and he was still alive, and she wouldn't have to deal with injury, too.

Kicking down a door is easy. Find the weak spot and just kick. It was one of the first things she had ever learned. Right after that, she learned to not do anything in heels on the first try.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and kicked, packing as much force behind it as possible. The metal reinforced doors of the tower were stronger than the average door, much stronger, but Peter hadn't put the security on, so Natasha was able to kick through the door as she pleased.

Once she cleared the door out of the way, she saw Peter huddling in a corner, tears trailing down his face- or at least they had been. Too bright, bloodshot hazel eyes looked at her for no more than a moment before staring at the ground, cheeks aflame. He was embarrassed to be seen at such a low point. She could understand that.

"Hey, Peter. You doing okay?" she asked, hating herself as every word left her mouth. Of course he wasn't okay; he had been crying in a locked bathroom for at least fifteen minutes. She wasn't good at the whole comforting-mom thing, or whatever this was. Not with her actual quirky family, not with the Avengers, and definitely not with kids. But Peter...

Something that sounded vaguely like 'no' emerged from beneath the sobs. His shoulders trembled. "Peter, look at me," Natasha said softly, slowly getting down to his level by crouching. She had dealt with many distressed people in her lifetime, and this was no different. She'd treat it the same.

He shook his head, refusing to look up. "I-I-I can't…" he stuttered out. "You'd be ashamed of me. You all should be ashamed of me, you all should hate me! Why did you guys adopt me_, why, why, why why_." The sick seed of agony planted itself in Natasha's stomach at his words.

"Oh, Peter," she said, reaching for him with gentle hands.

He was just a boy. Just a _boy_. She forgot that he was so young, _too_ young to have experienced all that he had. Natasha held him in her arms, letting him sob and sniffle onto her training suit. His convulsions could be felt through his skin and bones, so hard that it was impossible to imagine that they weren't painful.

Peter's face crumpled as he held onto her tightly. She slowly eased them into a standing position, then carefully began walking him back to his room. "Do you want some hot chocolate?" She tried. She had no idea what to do. "Do you...I don't know. Want to talk? Want to talk about your aunt? Your uncle?"

That was the wrong thing to say.

He all but dropped to the floor, head lounging against the wall. "I failed her, I failed Uncle Ben, I failed Gwen, I'm gonna fail you guys eventually, so why bother? I'm just a failure. That's it. I'm just...just..."

Natasha crouched down and forced him to look up by jutting her fingers under his chin. "Peter Benjamin Parker, you listen to me and you listen good. You are a lot of things- smart, funny. You possess so many qualities, good and bad, but you could never be a failure. Do you hear me, Peter? You call yourself a failure one more time, and I swear I will…" _Think of something funny, make him smile, or cringe, or something_! "I swear I will pay a visit to your girlfriend."

Peter cringed, unable to look anywhere besides Natasha's eyes. "Please don't scare her," he begged. "Don't bring any sort of weapon, or anything you can use as a weapon. And Gwen's not my girlfriend!" His breathing, while shallow, had improved, along with most of the tears stopping, only a few remnants dripping from his chin.

Natasha grinned in triumph. Mission accomplished. "Okay, but you have to promise me. Promise me that you are not a failure, and will never call yourself one." Peter nodded and offered a weak smile. His eyes, while ruby red, were no long dripping with tears, although they were fresh on his face.

"I promise, Tasha." Peter's eyes bulged out of his head as he scrambled to apologize. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry- it just came out, I didn-t-"

"Hey," she said, surprisingly soft, "It's okay. It's nice." Because for an unbelievable, indescribable reason, it was. "You can call me whatever you want." Peter nodded, cheeks bright red. "Just as long as you give Stark a really stupid name." Truth be told, it was scary just how much she enjoyed being called small pet names. It was weird, strange- new territory for the assassin. But maybe it wasn't a bad thing. Besides; Natasha always did like a good puzzle, and Peter was as complicated as it got. She was willing, to her astonishment, be patient.

Peter nodded. "Okay." She unconsciously brushed away the remainder of his tears, smiling.

"Okay."

As she helped him from the ground, he staggered, and she steadied him with a hand to his arm. He hissed, pulling it from her grip like it had burned, but what really concerned her was the heat she'd found there. Something wasn't right.

She could feel it in her gut.

**...**

Peter found that, although he had just had a meltdown in front of steel-faced, take-no-shit Natasha Romanoff, she had been kind to him and he didn't really care about anything at the moment.

He didn't know. He didn't care. Mm.

Mm, he was hungry and still felt funny, like his body was packed in cotton and he was stuck. Good thing that cut on his arm had stopped bleeding because damn it really burned. He felt really funny. Like super funny. Funny. What a funny word. _Funnnnnnnnnyyy_.

Peter giggled. _Funnnnnnnny_. For some reason, that was hilarious.

He wiped his face and brushed off his shirt and- where'd Natasha go?

Oh, wait, she was right there. Heh. That was funny too.

_Funnnnnny_.

Peter giggled again, and Natasha gave him a concerned look. He wandered to the elevator, only vaguely registering that she was following, and she pressed a button. The world tilted, and he didn't really care where he was going anymore. Moving. _Moving_. Another funny word.

He shook his head and brushed past her, numbly opening the fridge. Hungry. He was so hungry. _Hunnnnnnnnnnngry_. Haha, like when he was first bitten by the spider- he was so hungry then too, and Aunt May and Uncle Ben kept giving him weird looks but right now he absolutely doesn't care about anything at all-

His arm and the whole left side of his chest hurt, he realized, but didn't understand why.

What was he shoving in his- oh right, food. What sort? He couldn't taste it. Whatever it was he was sure it was good enough to eat. Haha. _Eaaaaaaaat_.

His chest- _oh God,_ his-

Hey, what about that slash wound that he got earlier- was that still bleeding? It really, really hurt. A lot. Really badly. _Lights flashing pain pain? why pain where pain oh pain arm arm ARM ARM-_

Why the hell does this hurt so-

Stumbling (wait, where'd the food go?) he dimly recognized the shape of a couch and, brushing past Bruce (when'd Bruce get here? Haha, _Brrrruuuuuuuuuuuuce_) and flopped face first onto the sofa, burying his head on a pillow._ Lights flashing pain pain PAIN PAIN-_

_What's going on what's happening why does this HURT SO MUCH-_

Something damp and cool pressing itself against his forehead; something soft being pulled over him. _"Fev...edicine...one...eter, he….e?"_

Words...he wanted to sleep now; now he was tired...He wanted to sleep, he wasn't...Help…_Huuuuuuuuuuuurts_….

Burning suddenly, burning hot, his veins his blood his soul his body _hot hot hot hot hot-_

Then dark.

**...**

Mr. Murdock stood, straightening his jacket. Steve stood also and stuck out his hand, then lowered it when he realized the blind man couldn't see him. Blushing, he said, "thank you so much for doing this, Mr. Murdock."

Mr. Murdock smiled, fixing his glasses more securely on his nose. Steve glared at Tony, who sent him a confused look before his face cleared. "Oh, and um, your money will be-"

"Tony!" Steve hissed, jerking his head. Tony growled and held up his hands.

"What do you want from me?!" He snarled back, and Steve's eyebrows rose. Tony rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. Fine. Thank you, Double D. I appreciate it and...and all that shit."

_Double D?_ Steve wondered, but dismissed it almost as soon as he thought it. Tony was always giving people strange names. (Steve especially had a problem with Esky, but dammit if he told Tony that. The playboy would only use it more.)

Matthew Murdock's face grew stern in exasperation. "I told you," he said, "I'm not-"

"Guys," Natasha's voice echoed from the hallway just as Mr. Murdock's phone rang, "I think...there's something wrong with Peter. I already asked JARVIS to get Bruce up here."

Matthew turned towards them, apologetic. "Sorry, I just got a call and it's an emergency- I have to go-" He grabbed his briefcase and nodded, brushing past Natasha and pausing before he got in the elevator. "Oh, and do you have any bathrooms with huge windows in this place?"

Steve's brows furrowed, but Tony looked unperturbed. "Yeah, down that hall. Just shut the window on the way down."

"Thanks," Matthew said, sounding sincere as he used his cane to feel for the hallway. He disappeared, but poked his head back in again. "Oh, and you'll want to get Mr. Parker's blood pressure down. His heart is working too hard and he is in danger of having a heart attack." Then he was gone.

Steve had three split seconds to be confused-

Before there was a crash from the kitchen.

Panic froze his veins as he dropped whatever it was he was holding, bolting to the kitchen. His whole body was consumed in terror- _had Peter dropped a plate was he hurt was he bleeding was he-_

Eating?

There was a glass of water abandoned to the floor, staining the white tile only temporarily. Peter stood, shoulders slumped slightly, in front of the open refrigerator, slowly stuffing food in his mouth. It didn't matter what it was- Steve watched him take a full thing of sliced ham and down it. Blinking in confusion, he cautiously approached the teen with his hands in a surrendering position. Peter's back was to him, and one could never be too careful.

What was this?

"Peter," he asked warily, edging closer. Peter didn't respond. "Peter? Are...you okay?"

Natasha shook her head. "Found him crying in the bathroom," she confided. Steve's attention snapped to the assassin. "He was acting really dazed and confused and...very much like he was drugged with something. But that's impossible, isn't it?"

Tony shook his head and shrugged. "His file didn't say he did drugs," he shrugged.

Steve hummed absently, eyes glued to Peter with a morbid fascination. "None in the tower. None in his case- saw him unpack. But then how…" He trailed off, studying the teenager curiously. "Peter, are you okay?"

Peter giggled and Natasha groaned. Tony laughed. "He giggles like a-"

"Tony," Steve gritted, and Tony fell silent. "Pete? Peter, can you answer me? Are you having trouble talking again?"

Peter turned, and Steve's alarm grew when he saw how pale Peter was. His skin was alabaster, his hazel eyes bright with fever. "_Hunnnnnngry_," he drawled, and Steve licked his lips nervously. Definitely not Peter.

"Are you? Why?"

Peter giggled and crammed a cookie in his mouth. Steve gently tugged the box from his grip. "_Funnnnnny_." As if this explained everything.

"Peter, come over here," Steve said softly, taking Peter by the shoulders and guiding him to the living room, away from the broken glass on the floor. Bruce came quickly into the room, pulling off his glasses, his eyes growing wide when he saw the mess of food on the floor.

"What's…"

"Doesn't matter," Steve said, pushing Peter towards the couch.

Peter's eyes bleary crossed and focused again, and he laughed, saying, "_Bruuuuuuuuuuce…"_

Bruce shot them a concerned look, and Peter wandered a little further towards the couch, sighed, and plopped down face first. Raising an eyebrow, Steve gently turned Peter's head so he wouldn't suffocate, frowning at the heat he found there.

"Bruce, does he have a fever?" He asked, and Bruce's brows furrowed as he felt Peter's forehead with the back of his hand. "Maybe. I'm not sure."

Sighing, Steve brushed Peter's hair off his forehead and pressed his lips there, and sure enough, it was warmer than normal. He ignored the looks being sent to him by the all knowing Natasha Romanoff, saying, "yeah, he feels a little warm. Do you think he's sick?"

"Someone go get the thermometer."

"Tony, do you have any medicine that can bring down fever? Tylenol? Anything?" Natasha asked, and Tony sent her an aggravated look.

"I'm a billionaire who suddenly gained eight roommates; you think I cared enough and had time to get medicine?"

Hawkeye tsked (and Steve didn't care enough to wonder when he'd decided to show up), taking Peter's pulse. He sighed. "His pulse is a little fast and thready, but nothing close to what Murdock said it was. Maybe he was wrong?"

Tony shook his head, brows furrowed, fingers pulling at his bottom lip. "Maybe…"

Steve gently, almost subconsciously, brushed his thumb over Peter's cheekbone, the light dusting of freckles catching his attention. He hadn't noticed them before…He had never been this close besides Peter's small breakdown the other night, and even then, he'd been a little preoccupied in that moment…

Bruce cleared his throat, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room. "Well, there's not much we can do, but I have this." He offered Steve the cold compress he'd prepared, and Steve took it gladly, softly laying it across Peter's forehead, who exhaled in relief at the coolness. A smile tugged at Steve's lips.

Peter's eyes flickered, bleary hazel creeping around the room. Steve palmed his eyelids shut again, aware that Peter wasn't even partially awake to know what he was doing.

He ran a hand through his hair, pressing the compress more firmly to Peter's forehead, sliding it down to the side of his face to the back of his neck. Peter's eyes fluttered.

"St've?" He murmured, wincing as he moved his arm. Natasha's eyes narrowed as Steve shushed his young charge.

** "**It's okay, Peter. I've got it."

This seemed to be what Peter had needed to hear, because he went willingly into the arms of slumber once again.

* * *

**_**cough cough** well. There you have it. Peter is legally Steve's. And...Tony. And...Natasha. And...yep._**

**_Reviews make me smile, and thanks for reading!_**


	11. Industrial Sized Fridges

**_Hello there again, my friends! So, this chapter might be a little confusing and hard to keep up with, so I'll A/N it near the end. Thanks for all the reviews, favs, follows and feedback, and I hope you enjoy this chapter because actually no like WADE._**

* * *

It wasn't that Wade Wilson didn't like his job. Actually, well, that wasn't true; sometimes he hated his job. Sometimes it was a real pain in the neck. The fact was that it was a job, it paid, and that was all that mattered. So he'd kill a couple assholes and off a few jerks; who cared? The world was better for it.

He was the Merc with the Mouth, and he knew how to use it.

Yeah, okay, so he'd seen Spidey leave Avenger's Tower from his window and, yeah, _okay_, he was being a bit of a stalker.

_A bit?_

"Shut up."

And yeah, he was hired to kill some people this time, by someone who called himself "The Big Man". That sounded...well, sounded like a bad fucking name to be honest, a real, honest to God horrible name, but hey, he wasn't one to judge.

_Actually, you judge people all the time, you know._

"Actually, I remember telling you to shut up."

_Wasn't me, smart ass._

"Too bad. I'm trying to concentrate here."

Now, Spidey wasn't the target- that would've been a shame, Wade actually kind of liked the dude besides the whole 'superhero strict code of morals' thing- but Spidey was close to his targets and his targets needed to be distracted for a while. He did feel a little bad about the whole poisoned blade thing, especially because the lithe young man had sounded like so much fun to banter with, but he'd had strict orders to keep his real identity under wraps for now. He needed a way to confirm the reports that Spider-Man was seen leaving Avenger's Tower, which was being monitored. Sure enough, it was true.

_**You, concentrating? What's the emergency; where's the fire?!**_

It didn't help that as messed up as it was, Wade did have certain morals, and Spidey was just a sixteen year old teenager. His employer didn't play around, Wade knew, and had connections within even the most secure government agencies. Enrolling himself into high school had been almost painfully easy. He had acquired a mask from his employer that he could slip over his head, eyeholes allowing his to see and a paste to disguise the change from the mask to his mouth. Normally he wouldn't have been so thorough, but his employer was determined to be...discreet about the whole thing.

Either way, it would successfully hide his scars. He could always wear gloves and his clothes covered everything else that would've been exposed.

_I'm glad that you've worked that out, genius._

"Hey, the author needed to explain certain things to the devoted readers. Not my problem."

He inwardly groaned as he thought about high school again, about having to befriend the moody teenager to get into Stark Tower and kill all of them, how he had to-

**_Hot girls._**

"I'm not a pervert. I'll leave that to Superman, thanks."

.**.._Hot_ teachers.**

"...I'm listening."

**...**

"Do you two know why you're here?"

The two street thugs shifted, eyes flitting nervously around the room. Marko swallowed, clenching his hands on the armrests tighter. "No...Sir," he added as an afterthought.

The man hidden in the shadows nodded slowly, twining his fingers together. "You're 'ere," he said, his voice gravelly, "'cause you've been chosen."

O'Hirn started. "Chosen? For what?"

The shadowed man forgave the thug his rudeness and ignorance. He did not often lash out on fools who did not know better the first time. "For...perfection. Tell me; are yeh willin' to be better than the best? Be more than you ever could 'ave?"

Marko's knuckles were white. "Look, man, I only want money to help my daughter-"

"Have you been successful so far, Marko?" The shadowed man asked, a knowing clip in his tone.

Marko fidgeted. "No...Sir."

"Exactly. I'm offering you a better chance at helping your daughter that I think is wise of you to accept. It'll give ya' amazing powers, abilities beyond your imagination."

He could see the appeal gleaming in Marko's eyes, and the slight doubt churning in O'Hirn's. "I have also caught word from my...associates...that you have been a little trouble with...pest control." His associates being, of course, Norman Osborn and the the Big Man.

The two thugs bristled. "Spider-Man," Marko snarled. "Always making me lose my big score."

The shadowed man threaded his fingers together. "Yeah. But with this...you would have the power for revenge. For justice."

Ah. Now they both looked incredibly interested. "Will you do it?"

Both seemed to consider. "We're in."

And the shadowed man smiled.

**...**

"Now, there's no need to panic," said the man clad in the lab coat calmly, but Marko wasn't really listening, "but it may hurt a little."

Marko could deal with many things, pain being one of them. One wasn't a street thug without knowing a little pain. "Just do it, Doc." He had to do this. His little girl needed help, and he had to do this. He couldn't let Spider-Man get in the way. This would ensure he wouldn't.

He watched as the scientists left the room, watched as a hand firmly wrapped around a handle-

And then came the screams.

**...**

When Peter managed to pry his eyes open, there was a dull ache all over, like he'd been hit by a truck.

A blurry figure was leaning over him, and a soft hand was laid against his forehead. Peter just caught the flash of brilliant blonde in the rays of the sun.

"...Steve?"

A flash of white teeth as Steve grinned. "Hey, son. Back to the world of the living I see."

Peter managed a nod, blinking to clear the gumminess from his eyes. Sitting up and rubbing at his head, he asked, "what...happened?" He remembered thinking...and then…

Wait, _what_?

"You only ate a whole industrial fridge worth of food." Clint snarked from somewhere to his left, and Peter bolted upright, swinging his legs over the couch and standing. He felt a little wobbly, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.

Swallowing, Peter settled on a rather eloquent denial of, "nooooooo…." Then mentally smacked himself. _Wow. Just...wow, Parker._

Natasha crossed her arms over her chest, an 'I take no shit' face on. "I literally just watched you do it," she deadpanned, tapping her foot slowly against the floor. Peter actually felt the first inklings of fear of this assassin. She could very clearly take control of a situation and Peter felt that, if she so wished it, she could have him spurting all of his secrets in a heartbeat.

"Erm…I don't know. I didn't feel good and I was hungry," Peter tried with a shrug, but from the narrowing of Clint's eyes and the purse of Natasha's lips they weren't convinced. Subtly he turned and brushed his fingers against his arm, feeling for the open cut. It had healed.

"Maybe I should look you over again; your fever broke, but that doesn't mean you're not sick," Bruce piped up, walking out of the bathroom and replacing his glasses on his nose.

Before Peter could respond, Tony was there, gesturing wildly with his arms. "Nope, not necessary; Peter's all good!"

His brows furrowed, Peter watched as Tony took a breath, smiling his signature charming smile.

Clint rolled his eyes. "I'm pretty sure normal teenagers don't eat entire industrial fridges," he quipped, and suddenly Tony's brows lifted and his lips pursed, making him appear mildly agitated.

"Oh yeah?" He snapped, "Really? How would you know? Hell, how would any of you know? Clint and Natasha were probably out being mini-assassins, Steve was getting his ass kicked in early 1900s Brooklyn, and Bruce, was your childhood normal?!"

Bruce swallowed and scratched the back of his, muttering, "well, no…"

Tony looked far too pleased with himself, crossing his arms over his chest. "Exactly! None of you know. But I do, and I'm telling you, teenage boys get hunger spurts. Plus, Peter was sick, so it was probably heightened."

Natasha raised a perfectly plucked brow. "And why do they get these hunger spurts?" (She was obviously still dubious of the whole thing.)

Tony stared at her like she was an idiot. "Uhm, growing; duh."

The Avengers seemed satisfied with this answer, and now that Peter was awake and out of imminent danger, they meandered off to do their own things. Steve clapped Peter on the shoulder, saying, "I'll be back in ten; going to go grab a shower. I suggest you do the same; might make you feel better." Smiling kindly, he too left the room.

Just Peter and Tony now.

"Uh," Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck and bashfully peering up at the billionaire through dark lashes, "thanks for that."  
Tony smirked. "No problem, kiddo. Can't help if I'm a little fond of you."

"I don't think I'm comfortable with that statement," Peter said drily, and Tony laughed. Peter's eyebrows creased. "But...what are you going to do about the fridge? We need more food."

Tony abruptly stopped chuckling, his face growing pale. "Aw man," he said, and sounded like someone had just signed the declaration of his death, "Pepper is going to kill me."

It was Peter's turn to laugh.

**...**

"Is it done?"

The room remained dark for a reason, but the shadowed man- more commonly known as a thug called Hammerhead- grinned wolfishly, his backstreet accent more pronounced than ever. "Yeah, Boss. Next thing you know, the bait'll be set out and they'll come running."

"They need to be unprepared, Hammerhead. Remember that. The Avengers need to run to Spider-Man's aid in such a frenzy to protect that Deadpool needs to take them by surprise."

"Consider it already taken care of, Boss."

The line went flat.

**...**

"Peter, I really don't think you're ready to go out yet," Steve said worriedly, his brows pulled together as Peter pulled his backpack over his shoulders. "I think this project can wait until later."

Peter shrugged, tying his laces. "But the project is due in a few days and I feel bad, because Gwen's been working-"

He shut his mouth abruptly and, apparently having heard from the living room, Clint shouted, "Told you he had a girlfriend!"  
Natasha overlapped with, "is she redhead?!"

Peter huffed, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. Steve frowned. "We'll have to get you a haircut young man," he said mock-sternly, to which Peter just brightly grinned. "Alright, I'll let you go. Please come back at a reasonable hour?"

Peter nodded, and, on instinct, threw his arms around Steve's large frame and gave him a quick hug, grabbing his skateboard and running out the door and into the elevator before Steve could say anything about it.

Steve rubbed his eyes, opening them to find a very wise looking Bruce. "He's growing on you," he said matter-of-factly, crossing his arms over his chest. Steve smiled.

"I can't help it," he said. "He's legally mine."

"No," Bruce countered firmly. "Not just that. You know what I mean. You act like he's been yours for your whole life."

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Alright," he admitted. "So maybe I am. I think...I understand better how parents can be so overbearing. It's like I can see what can hurt him in every single situation, imagine every single possible way he could be harmed, and-"

"You wanna stop it," Bruce said softly, and Steve blew a noisy breath out of his cheeks.

"Yeah. I do."

**...**

_It's good to be in the skies again,_ Peter said to himself, smiling as he flew through the streets of Manhattan._ I don't know what's going on or what happened- my best guess is that that knife was poisoned, seeing as it happened literally just after I fought that one crook...but where would he get poison like that? Black market?_

He landed on a flagpole, gracefully spinning around it and taking off again. An_d what was up with Murdock? Does he know who I am? There was that hesitation- I heard it. So did Tony. And he was quick to cover me when everyone was worried so they didn't take a blood sample; God knows what they'd find in my DNA._

Sighing and perching on the edge of a building, Peter shook his head._ You're in way over your head, Parker. Do you really think that they're stupid enough to just believe where you go? They're superheroes. They will figure it out. What are you going to do?_

He paused as a thought came to him. _I could tell them. They might understand._

He exhaled and ran a hand over his face. _What am I kidding? I'm a vigilante. They're supported by S.H.I.E.L.D.; I'm not. I'm public villain number one right now. I can't tell them. They wouldn't understand. They don't...personally know me yet._

A bank alarm rang again in the night, and screams erupted from a few blocks over. Peter stashed these thoughts away for later, focusing now on what he did best: fighting crime.

Perching on the edge of a roof across from a bank, Peter spotted the very familiar form of Flint Marko and he made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. _I am so absolutely done with today._

Where Marko went, O'Hirn usually wasn't far behind, and Peter did _not_ have the patience to deal with the two idiotic street thugs right now.

Swinging down to the street and landing on top of a cop car, he greeted the armed police force with (what he hoped appeared to be) a good natured wave. Of course, in response to this, they all pointed their guns at his heads and began screaming at him.

He was rolling his eyes and positioning his hands so he could jerk all their guns away with one web when a voice, powerful, stern, and extremely familiar barked, "stand down! He's a friendly. That's enough, DeWolfe."

The woman closest to him lowered her gun fractionally, still eyeing Peter warily. Peter rolled his eyes but stuck his hands in the air again., huffing out an exasperated breath.

"Why are you all so worried about me? There's a bank robbery in process right behind you!"

"We have a few of our own surrounding the bank, Spider-Man," the voice said again, and Peter almost couldn't believe his eyes as one Captain George Stacy of the NYPD parted his officers, looking at ease with Peter's presence. His gun was holstered at his hip, and although he had no smile, his eyes were bright. Peter knew right then that George Stacy was glad he was there, if not happy. "But we could use you. You in?"

"Wouldn't be here if I wasn't, Captain," Peter replied earnestly, and the cops around him must have heard the tone, because they put their guns away and shuffled backwards a few steps. Stacy's lips quirked.

"I know that, Spider-Man. I get it."

Peter took a deep breath as Captain Stacy turned, wishing he could say everything that was on his mind-_ I'm sorry it's my fault that you were hurt it's good to see you how are you feeling it doesn't hurt thank you for trusting me I've stayed away from Gwen but can we still be friends? I know that I don't deserve her and I'll stay away and thank you for being here when I needed you-_

"Captain?" He called before he could think better of it, and George Stacy turned. Peter hesitated. "It's...really good to see you back on your feet."

And Stacy genuinely smiled at him again, and Peter knew he was forgiven. "You too, Spider-Man. Now get in that bank before I change my mind."

And Peter, grinning under the mask and feeling like he'd just won the lottery, entered the building.

* * *

**_So basically, here's the gist: Marko is Sandman now, we learn about why Deadpool is enrolling into school, the Big Man and Hammerhead have hired Deadpool and Sandman to bait Spider-Man and distract the Avengers (while Deadpool kills them) and Captain Stacy is back in action. Tony may also sort of know that Peter is Spider-Man, maybe._**

**_Sorry for the confusing-ness of this chapter but I hope you enjoyed it, thanks for reading, and please leave me a comment on your thoughts!_**


	12. Mreow?

**_Hey there again, guys! Sorry this chapter is a little late- I was doing GISHWHES (Greatest International Scavenger Hunt the World Has Ever Seen) this week, and I was on vacation, so those two kept me pretty busy. Anyways, thanks for waiting so patiently and here's the next chapter!_**

* * *

He went in through one of the first floor windows, narrowing his eyes as he spotted the hostages of the bank- around twelve people, including three children and a toddler in a stroller- all along the back wall, next to a water cooler in the corner of the room. They spotted him, their faces lighting up, and he quickly put a finger to his lips. _Be quiet._

They acquiesced, dutifully keeping their eyes to the ground so they would not look up at him and give him away.

The sound of clinking coins and the brush of air as money was counted in batches caught Peter's attention, and he crawled along the ceiling, headed towards one of the several open vaults. Ducking his head in and scanning the room, he continued until he found the one with the familiar, bent form of Flint Marko.

Silently, he released his hold on the ceiling and flew to the floor, landing in a graceful crouch. "Well, well, well, Marko," he remarked, and the crook jumped to his feet whilst simultaneously shoving another wad of cash into his bag as he slung it over his shoulder, "didn't think you'd be out so fast. What, did your wife decide to bail you out early this time?"

Marko, instead of growling, grinned wolfishly. "Naah, but good guess, Itsy Bitsy. In fact, I've got myself a benefactor."

Spider-Man laughed, throwing his head back. "You? A _benefactor_? I'm sorry if that seems a little far fetched, Marko, considering your- eh hem- rather long track record of being...what's the word I'm looking for?" He paused, tapping a finger against his masked chin. He snapped his fingers. "Oh yeah- caught?"

Marko only grinned wider. "Well, what can I say?" And Peter watched in fascinated disgust as the skin of Marko's left hand began to shift, molding into a new shape. It turned into a club. "I'm just a charmer."

Peter barely had time to blink himself out of his stupor before Marko was upon him, smashing the clubbed arm into the ground where he was just standing. From the ceiling, Peter called, "a charmer, huh? So what does your benefactor want you to do, seduce me? Because if he does," he dodged another hit, "it's not working so well."

Marko seemed to finally grow frustrated of missing, because the club melted away- crumbled- into a new shape. This was a hammer. Peter finally remembered to close his mouth. _What the actual hell? How is he doing that?!_

Marko laughed. "Like my new toy, Spider-Man?" He asked, and Peter's head snapped in his direction again, "my benefactor helped me out with it."

Peter arched an eyebrow. "So let me guess- your super villain name is Shapeshifter or Melt Man, right?"

Marko snarled, and Peter leapt out of the way of the hammered hand again. "No," Marko growled. "You can call me...Sandman."

Peter paused, but then his face split into a grin that Marko could obviously see, even with his mask on. "I get it- you're as annoying as sand in the underwear, right?"

Marko positively roared, morphing his whole body- how is he doing that- so he was taller, standing directly in front of Peter, who was still upside down on the ceiling. Before Peter could move-_ warningwarningwarningwarning_ in the back of his brain- Marko had him by the neck, the strange skin wrapping tighter and tighter, and Peter found some of it in his mouth.

_Sand_, he thought, finally connecting the dots as he spluttered to get the grains out of his mouth. _He's actually sand; like, his body is made of it. Can I literally never catch a break_?

His mind working at a mile an hour as he wriggled and writhed in Marko's grip, he clawed at the crook's face, managing a punch to the cheek. The cheekbone crumpled away, leaning a fist shaped indent in Marko's face. Marko grinned maliciously again as the sand came sliding from the other corners of his face to fix the hole. "Can't hurt me now," he said lowly.

Peter tried to reign in his mounting panic, knowing it wouldn't help him. Searching the room for something that could possibly help him, Peter spotted a chair and, hoping to all the gods he could think of that it would work, webbed it over and crashed it into Marko's torso. It went straight through it, slamming into Peter as it passed harmlessly through Marko's body, but it threw Peter out of the criminal's grip.

Peter watched in mild horror as Marko's middle was detached completely from his upper half, both forms tumbling to the ground, landing in a heap of sand in the center of the bank. Blinking in astonishment as the sand immediately began sifting across the floor and pulling itself back together, Peter webbed open the doors and shouted to the civilians, "go! The cops are outside- tell them I've got this!"

The twelve wide eyed people nodded, terrified, and ran screaming from the bank.

_Now that they're out of the way…_

Peter took a deep breath as Marko drew himself to his feet, baring his teeth. "Shouldn't have done that," he said, and Peter, for one split moment, felt actual fear from the glint in Marko's eyes.

Swallowing and banishing it as fast as it came, Peter summoned a smile and taunted, "come and get me, seashell."

And the chase began around the bank as Peter webbed himself out of the way of flying objects, things shattering over his head and desks smashing against his body. Grunting and doing his best to avoid the debris, he threw a web against Marko's chest, swinging in circles around the crook and effectively trapping him in a cocoon.

Marko smirked, his body deteriorating before Peter's eyes, slithering across the floor to reform, just outside the web cocoon that Peter had made.

_I am so in over my head,_ Peter thought as the chase began again, this time more forcefully as Marko began forming sand weapons and trying to bash him in with them. Peter escaped by a hair's breadth every single time, a constant stream of dangerdangerdangerdanger beaming through his brain courtesy of his spider-sense.

_I know I'm in danger, thank you very much,_ Peter sniped back, and of course, his mind didn't respond.

The onslaught came to an abrupt stop- _oh, what now?!-_ and Peter peered around the room anxiously. No sign of Marko.

Suddenly, hands around his throat and arms pinning him against solid brick as he was grabbed from behind- he needed air, his windpipe was being crushed- the world was dark at the edges; why so soon? He needed to take a breath- he was gasping-

His eyes frantically looked around the room for some help, any help-

A stroke of genius slammed into him as Peter spotted the water jug in the corner of the room. Throwing his hand up and praying to God that this worked, Peter jerked his wrist and just had the good sense to duck as the water went flying by his face-

And smashed into Marko's.

Promptly he was dropped and, coughing, he looked up blearily to see Marko clutching at the wet sand of his face with his equally went hands as he collapsed, wetting himself further in the puddle of water at his feet.

The sand swirled across the ground and out the door, and disappeared down a drain in the sidewalk as Marko's parting words echoed in Peter's ears: _This isn't over._

**_..._**

"Thank you, Spider-Man," George Stacey said, clapping Peter on the back gently. Peter rubbed at his bruised neck without a response, and the Captain eyed him with concern. "Peter," he said, lowering his voice so that the surrounding officers taking witness accounts couldn't hear, "are you alright?"

Peter managed a nod, not daring to speak. His voice was croaky and his throat felt like it was made of broken glass. Looking up at the dark, murky night sky, Peter sighed soundlessly. He was dead. Steve was so going to kill him.

"Can I get you anything?"

Peter almost burst into hysterical laughter at his next thought, a giggle escaping him. Of course, this made Stacey's hand tighten where it rested on his shoulder, and Peter rasped, smiling, "just water, thanks."

**...**

Wincing as he swallowed, he jiggled a leg in the elevator as it traveled up to the fourteenth floor. He knew that Steve or someone was probably waiting up for him, and that getting into Avenger's Tower through the window was a no-go, seeing as one of them would have been informed by JARVIS that he'd come into his floor via the doorway, like a normal person.

So now he was in trouble.

_Congratulations, Parker_, he thought sourly to himself, rubbing absently at his neck again and looking at the hand-shaped bruises that were forming into a dark purple there, _I think that you're the only person in the world who could manage to screw something up so quickly. Really._

Rubbing a hand at his tired eyes and ignoring the swoop of his stomach when the elevator dinged, Peter took another deep breath.

_"Good luck,"_ JARVIS said solemnly. _"You'll need it."_ If machine voices could sound sad, JARVIS accomplished it with flying colors.

Peter grimaced. "Thanks, JARVIS. That's really comforting."

Then the doors opened, and Peter stepped into a dark floor. Peering around with his eyes narrowed and wondering if he'd gotten off easy, Peter looked in through the kitchen door- nothing. The living room held no answers and the bathroom door was open, the light off. The whole floor was completely black aside from the moonlight that filtered in through the glass wall, on the far side of the dining room.

Gulping, Peter turned back to elevator, barely believing his luck when a creak came to his ears. Sucking in a breath and instinctively cringing, Peter turned to find one Tony Stark, sitting in the middle of the room on a spin-y chair, stroking a pretty, purring tabby cat from head to tail. Despite the lackadaisical position, his eyes were ice and his face was steel.

"Peter," he greeted, and his voice was full of razor blades, "good of you to come home."

Peter bit his bottom lip, subtly checking his watch and letting out a breath of resignation. 1:03 A.M. He was so screwed.

"Yeah, I know the time," Tony said, gritting his teeth. His hand didn't falter in his petting, and the cat's tail swished. "You want to know where everyone else is right now?"

Peter's chin trembled, and he minutely nodded his head. Tony was suddenly on his feet, face inches away from Peter's own. Peter found himself folding in half to avoid Tony's towering height. "OUT LOOKING FOR YOU," he shouted, his eyes ablaze with a fire that Peter had no idea they could possess.

In that moment he was undeniably, inescapably petrified, frozen in place.

"You want to know why?!" Tony shouted, and Peter stifled a whimper. God, why was he reacting this way? "Because apparently, your phone doesn't work!" Tony barked. "Get out your phone, show it to me," he commanded, and Peter reached back into his backpack to find his cellphone. Tony grabbed it roughly from his hands, and the home screen blinked to life under Tony's skilled and knowing fingers.

"Oh, look at that, it's NOT DEAD," Tony yelled, and Peter's eyes flew to the ground in meekness, bringing him back a year to the same time that Uncle Ben shouted the same thing. "And oh, look- the VOLUME IS UP, TOO!" Tony pressed the volume button, and Peter's ringtone blared through the stillness of the floor.

"And oh- look at that," Tony said, his voice barely a breath away from an absolute snarl, "six missed calls."

Peter tightened his jaw and bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. So this was what disappointing his new guardians was like. It was worse than any other feeling Peter had ever known. "And you know what," Tony said, voice very, very low, "you are very, very lucky that I have covered your ass on not one, not two, not three, but four separate occasions, Peter Benjamin Parker. You are incredibly, irresponsibly lucky that you even _know_ me."

Peter nodded quickly even though he was confused, the metallic feel of blood heavy on his tongue. Tony huffed out a frustrated breath, running fingers through his hair. "Stop worrying at your lip," he snapped, "you're making it bleed."

Peter, of course, obeyed, tracking Tony's movements with his eyes. Tony paced back and forth for a few minutes, finally stopping and running a hand over his face, sighing. He opened his arms. "Come on," he said quietly, and Peter listened, going willingly into his other guardian's arms and pressing his face into Tony's shoulder.

He was trembling.

Tony rubbed at his shoulders and arms, shushing him softly when he he gave a shaky breath. "Alright," he said, pulling Peter at arms length after a few minutes of silent hugging, "let me see the damage." He grasped Peter's chin, tilting his head back. Peter allowed him to, and squinted when JARVIS brought the lights up so Tony could see better.

Tony whistled. "Damn, kiddo," he murmured. "Helluva project, huh? What, this Gwen girl get pissed at you?"

Peter swallowed. "Is Steve really mad?" He whispered, and Tony looked at him in surprise.

"Oh yeah, forget to mention," he said as he turned back to inspect a cut on Peter's temple, "the team isn't actually looking for you. They're in bed."

Peter's mouth fell open, and he said dumbly, "wait, I- what?"

Tony smirked. "They're sleeping, in bed. Keep up, Pete."

"But- you said-"

"I lied." Tony's voice was calm and collected the whole time he spoke, and Peter winced as he moved onto another cut on Peter's cheek. There had been a lot of shattering glass in the bank. "Come on. Med floor is next level."

He grabbed Peter's shirt and began to tug him along, but Peter stood rigid, stopping the billionaire in his tracks. "You know," he said, and Tony rolled his eyes.

"Of course I know, Peter. It was in your S.H.I.E.L.D. file."

Peter's brows furrowed. "What's a Shield file?"

Tony shook his head, saying, "nevermind. But I knew from the very beginning, ever since I looked you up. I gave the file to Steve without the secret identity part."

Peter was baffled. "But...why?" Peter asked. "Isn't Steve your friend?"

Tony smirked. "Kiddo," he said, gently putting an arm around Peter's shoulders, "let me tell you something, okay? And listen up." At Peter's nod, Tony said, "just because he's my friend doesn't mean I have to tell him everything. You can trust some people with some things and some things with others. I would tell Steve about your sweetheart. I would tell Natasha about your secret. I would tell Bruce about your science aptitude, and tell Clint about your incredible climbing ability. All with reasonable explanations. Do you understand?"

Peter nodded slowly. "I think so," he said, and Tony ruffled his hair, dragging him towards the elevator again. "Wait," Peter said, refusing to move, and Tony turned around again with a tolerant smile on his face. "Sorry, but...the panel, and- and you covering with Murdock, and- and- the fridge…"

"Peter," Tony said, "I've always got your ass. You could come home with bruises and bumps and not have to tell them a thing. I'd ask you to trust me though, and tell me so I could help. I'm not saying not to tell them," Tony added, "because I think you should, and can. I'm not turning you in just because you're underage and not privileged by S.H.I.E.L.D. I just think that it's your identity, and you should be able to do with it what you want."

Peter found himself unable to do anything but nod again. "As for Murdock," Tony grinned, "I've got his ass, too. He's...also a man of many masks, if you will, and he could tell from your heartbeat that you were Spider-Man. Ever met him before?" At Peter's shake of his head, Tony's eyes crinkled at the corners. "You have, trust me. Or else he wouldn't have recognized you."

Peter took a deep breath. "This is a lot to process," he said, and Tony chuckled.

"I know it." He turned towards the elevator again.

"But wait," Peter said again, and Tony turned to him with pursed lips. "Sorry," he said with a wince, "but I'm still confused. How are the rest of the Avengers in bed? It's-" he checked his watch- "1:18 A.M. And Steve asked me to be back at a reasonable hour."

Tony smirked yet again, and Peter got the sense that it was one of the billionaire's favorite facial expressions. "Don't even doubt my ability to program a fake phone call, Mr. Parker," he said with a wink, saying, "JARVIS, play it back please."

_"Yes, Sir."_ And suddenly Peter's voice came to himself, words he had never spoken: _"Hey, thanks but I'm going to be at this house a while," his voice said. "I'll probably end up sleeping here. Thanks, guys, and I'll see you after school."_

Peter's mouth was hanging open. "H-I never- but-" he spluttered, and Tony laughed.

"Things you've said to JARVIS, Pete. Just strung 'em together and edited them a little and _voila_!" Tony spread his arms in triumph, "a recorded message from the lips of Peter Parker himself."

"You're incredible," Peter breathed, and Tony bowed.

"Thank you, Peter. I'm too old for you, as much as I'm flattered."

Peter's nose scrunched, and Tony ruffled his hair again. "That's the response I'm looking for." He paused. "Okay, can we finally go to Med now so I can patch you up, or are we going to stand here all night?"

Peter laughed lightly, still on shaky legs. "Yeah, yeah. We can go."

"Thank _God_," Tony said dramatically, throwing his arms out. Peter's giggle was genuine this time as he followed Tony to the elevator. The doors shut and the elevator began upwards.

"Hey Tony?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"...Since when do we have a cat?"

**...**

"That should do it," Tony said as he put down the antiseptic and the band-aid box, wiping his forehead. "What happened, you have a go at a glass window?"

Peter recalled the shattering vases and desks above his head and smiled bashfully. "Something like that," he murmured, and Tony let out an amused breath, checking the time.

"Yikes, it's two A.M.," he said, pulling Peter to his feet and pushing him to the elevator, "get some sleep. I'll tell them in the morning that you came home really early for a change of clothes and some breakfast. You'll have to leave out the window," Tony warned, and Peter smiled.

"That's okay," he replied. "I like heights."

Tony only hummed.

In the morning when Peter woke, there were two wristbands sitting on his bedside table. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he grabbed at them and inspected them. They were sleek and new...web shooters.

There was a note.

_Peter; your web shooters were ruined last night. Sand in them. What the hell were you doing? Were you by the Hudson? Anyways, take these instead. Was working on them anyway, just didn't know how to give 'em to you._

_Don't get killed after school._

_x Tony_

And Peter couldn't help the warm feeling that spread throughout his chest.

* * *

_**Alright, so I couldn't sum up the courage to put in all dark feelings in this chapter, so here: have Tony and Peter bonding. So IcePhoenix, you were right :) thanks for reading, sorry for the action scene, and please leave me a comment on your thoughts :)**_


	13. Skip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah

_Hey guys! So this chapter is also sort of fluffy and not really plotty, but it's adorable and I sort of love it..._

_I love all the feedback- good, bad, anything! Everything (except flames) helps me improve my writing. Point out things you DON'T like (don't get me wrong, I love that you all like the stuff I'm writing). I even like Dark Cat Food Lover's never changing reviews! (They're sort of endearing, if I'm honest)._

_Also: T1ny Danc3r, I know your name from somewhere. Have you reviewed on my stories before? Revenge is Cruel, maybe? If not I must have just seen you around; if so, welcome back! Good to see you're name again and have you on board :)_

_Enjoy the chapter!_

* * *

In school the next day, Peter pulled up his hood and tried to avoid the stares he was getting at his neck. Even with his fast healing (which had turned the bruises to a lighter green and sickly yellow overnight, which meant they were healing) the marks were still very, very visible, and Peter was becoming self conscious.

"PETER!" A familiar voice cried over the din of the students, and Peter whirled just in time to get his arms full of Gwen Stacy.

Blinking in astonishment as she hugged him ferociously around the shoulders, Peter said, "hey, Gwen; where's the fire?"

Gwen pulled back from where her face was in his neck and gave him a seething look that had him cowering slightly. He'd forgotten her temper. "Peter Benjamin Parker," she gritted, "my father comes home last night, not a scratch on him, and you know what he says? He says that Spider-Man showed up on the scene, and when he came out of the bank, his voice and body language revealed signs of _strangulation_," she hissed.

Peter peeled back his hood slightly to show her the fading bruises. "Yep. Gwen, there's this crazy sand guy- Flint Marko's turned into a- God- I don't want to say mutant, but damn, that's what it looks like," he said exasperatedly, and Gwen's brows furrowed.

"Why? What happened?"

"He-" Peter took a breath, "he turned into this- this- _Sandman_, and he is literally made of sand. Oh, and I got back at around one A.M. from that bank, and Tony was waiting."

Gwen grabbed his arm, effectively stopping them from walking in the hallway. "What did you say? What happened?"

Peter shrugged, his bangs falling into his face. "Nothing 'happened', really. I came home late and Tony was sitting there in a spin-y chair with this tabby cat, and-"

"Wait," she said, and Peter fell obligingly silent. "Spin-y chair? Since when do you guys have a cat?"

Mystified that someone understood, Peter exclaimed, "that's exactly what I said! But anyways, he was telling me all these things about responsibility and that the Avengers were out looking for me-" when she paled, he clarified, "but they weren't; he'd said that to guilt me. But he was talking about how he'd covered my ass 'not once, not twice, not three times, four!' And I was confused for a few moments and then it just...dawned on me." He gripped the straps of his backpack so it stayed on his bruised shoulder and continued walking.

Gwen trotted beside him, hair swishing out behind her. She sounded alarmed. "But Peter- the police- and whoever the Avengers work for-"

"Tony said that it was my identity to do what I choose with," Peter interrupted smoothly, covering all of his friend's worries with the thirteen words. "Besides, Gwen. If they do find out, what's the harm? They're all nice enough. Oh- speaking of which," he pulled out his phone and scrolled, "I got this text from Steve in third period."

Gwen took the phone from his hands and read quietly aloud to herself. "_Peter, I know you're at school and it's in the middle of grass-"_

"Class," Peter said fondly, shaking his head. "He meant class. The touchscreen...it takes getting used to, I suppose."

Gwen stared at him. "I know, Pete. I could've figured it out myself, Bugboy, but thanks for the input."

Peter flushed an embarrassed rosy. "Just keep reading."

Gwen's eyes flickered across the screen to find the place she'd left off. "B_ut I wanted to ask if you maybe wanted to have your friend Gwen over for dinner tonight. You and she were working on that project together last night so I figured it would be nice. Have a good day and I'll see you later."_

Peter genuinely smiled, blushing. "If-if you don't want to come-"

"I'll be there at six," she said curtly, giving him a small wave and a grin. "See you, Bugboy."

Peter skipped for the rest of the school day.

**...**

After school, as much as he wanted to crime fight, he had a bone to pick with Captain Stacy. Heading into the station and hunching his shoulders to (hopefully) hide his profile (as there weren't many people who were slim and lithe like Spider-Man, and cops still made him nervous about his secret identity) he went to the officer at the desk, smiling.

He recognized her instantly- it was DeWolfe, the junior detective. Her face was much prettier when it wasn't spread into a cautious expression. She smiled at him, but it didn't reach her eyes. He figured she probably had a lot going on, and a moody teenager wasn't something she was eager to add to her list.

"Hello," she said nicely, "how can I help you?"

Peter gave her a small, bashful smile, and she seemed to relax. "Can I talk to Captain Stacy, please?"

She gave him a stern look, which he returned calmly. Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Before he had to answer, a voice barked, "DeWolfe! That's enough." Peter had to fight to withhold the smile threatening his lips, recalling the battle last night. It faded under Mr. Stacy's harsh gaze, and Peter tugged self consciously at his hood again, pulling it around the yellowed bruises.

His harsh demeanor softened at the edges when he saw Peter shrink back, and he offered Peter a small smile. "Hey, Peter. Come on in my office; we can talk there."

Peter nodded and the Captain led him into a private room, shutting the door quietly. "Take a seat, Peter."

Peter obeyed, and George Stacy sat behind the desk in the middle of the room. It was relatively impersonal, containing only the necessities- a file cabinet, a desk, and consultant chairs. "New office?" Peter asked, and Mr. Stacy nodded.

"In my absence, they remodeled. My old room became the extra file room- there were too many new criminal cases from a certain vigilante bringing so many in at once." Peter grinned but Stacy sobered. "Why are you really here, Peter?"

Peter's grin faded. "It's about the villain, last night," he said, swallowing. "He's- Marko, I mean- he's changed, Mr. Stacy, really changed- he said he'd gotten a benefactor and he- he was _actually_ sand!"

Mr. Stacy's brows furrowed. "What do you mean, 'actually sand'?"

"I mean that he's literally somehow made himself sand," Peter said, sounding exasperatedly confused. "He said his _benefactor_ had helped him, but I don't know who would ever have the money or the power to…" He trailed off, biting his lip as his eyes went distant in thought.

George Stacy cleared his throat and Peter came back. "Alright- do we have any idea how to defeat him?"

Peter's lips pursed, and he ran his hands through his hair. "I got him with a water jug last night, but he just...melted into wet sand and went down the sewer drain in the street. I don't know if we can ever actually beat him because- well- he's sand, and he can just...reform whenever he wants."

George Stacy ran a hand over his face. "Thank you, Mr. Parker," he said quietly, "you may go."

Peter stood up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder again, but he paused just before he opened the door and turned back, fidgeting. "Sir," he began, and Mr. Stacy looked up questioningly, "I just- Gwen and I- we're friends again, you know, and I figured that two sets of eyes were always better than one and since you're here I was wondering if- maybe you'd be alright- and she and I-"

"What are you asking me, Mr. Parker?" George Stacy said, eyes narrowing.

Peter swallowed, his hands wringing as he took another deep breath. "I just was hoping that- with your permission, of course- if Gwen and I could...be...together."

George Stacy was silent for a few long and frightening seconds before his face cleared, replaced with something stern but not forbidding. "There are going to be a few ground rules, Mr. Parker," he ground out, and Peter nodded quickly.

"Of course."

"One," Mr. Stacy started, "you don't go out in public as a couple. Friends- _distant_ friends- in public is fine. Don't talk too loudly when you're with her- you have a distinctive tone that'll give you away. Hunch a bit- your height is a similar giveaway, too. Don't give anything away about distinctive features."

Peter nodded, agreeing with terms. "And under no circumstances, Peter Parker," Mr Stacy said lowly, "are you to do something my daughter says no to. Understand?"

"Never, sir," Peter assured. "I completely understand."

Mr. Stacy was silent a few more moments- assessing him, calculating- before giving a single nod to his head. "All right," he said dismissively. "You can go now."

"Erm- also, sir, I don't mean to push my luck," Peter began and George Stacy looked up at him piercingly.

"You've pushed your luck to limit for now, young man," he said, and Peter shuffled.

"Y-yes sir, but my- my- er- guardian Steve Rogers- that is, Captain America the superhero- was wondering if maybe Gwen wanted to come over for dinner tonight and meet the team and I thought that maybe it would be a good idea?"

Captain Stacy paused. "I thought Gwen was joking when she said you'd been adopted by superheroes."

Peter blew a breath of out his cheeks. "No, sir; it's true."

When there was no response, Peter turned to leave, and on his way out the door heard the muttered: "She'll see you at six, Mr. Parker," and couldn't help his skipping all the way back to Avengers Tower.

**...**

"Hey guys, I'm back!" He called as he entered the fourteenth floor, beaming like a small child and bouncing on the balls of his feet as he went to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of juice. The Avengers, from where they were all assembled on the couch doing something (Steve reading, Tony flicking past things on a tablet, Natasha cleaning all her guns, Clint sharpening his arrows and Bruce writing something down vigorously in a notebook) looked up and smiled at his exuberance.

"Too much sugar today, Peter?" Steve asked in an amused voice, a little smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"No Pops, Gwen is com-" he paused, his eyes widening at his mistake, his body freezing mid-motion of crossing the room over to them. Shutting his eyes and letting out a breath, Peter said hurriedly, "I'm sorry I didn't mean it I just it-"

"Come on, Pete," Steve said swiftly, standing up and taking Peter by the shoulder, "let's go up to the roof."

Peter followed meekly, only managing to catch the smallest glimpse of Tony's reassuring expression before the elevator doors closed and he and his guardian were alone. The teenager opted to remain silent as the floors passed by- fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. Peter's fingers were restless in his pockets as he waited for Steve to say something, anything.

"Peter," Steve said, and Peter looked up at the tone that he'd never heard before in Steve's voice to find Steve looking earnestly, hopefully down at him, "I'd be so incredibly honored to be called that, I don't- I mean, only if you want-" and he looked away, and Peter found himself surprised to see a blush creeping across the super soldier's cheeks.

He took a deep breath and steadied himself before beginning to explain shyly, "I- I've never had a real...Dad before- Uncle Ben was the closest I came to a father, and he was really great- he was- but I was never really...I mean, I know I'm not yours like, biologically, but for some reason Uncle Ben was always my uncle and my father was always my father but you're-" he stopped short; paused. Swallowed and recollected himself from his rambling. Took another deep breath. "You're just...like a Dad, but 'Dad' doesn't seem...suiting. You know?"

And Steve gave him one of those famous knowing looks of his, and Peter knew that he'd understood. "Yeah, Peter. I know."

And in that moment, Peter wished there was room to skip in the elevator.

**...**

When they descended, the Avengers all pretended like they hadn't been just eagerly staring at the elevator doors waiting for their return, and Tony stood and clapped his hands. "So, Peter's girlfriend is coming over tonight," he announced, and the all the Avengers' eyes crinkled in the corners, "and we need something better than pizza and Chinese takeout. Does anyone know how to cook?"

"You should learn," Pepper piped up from where she was curled up on the far couch, head in her business pad where she was doing online paperwork, "it would make you seem less dependent on others like a child."

"I resent that, you know," Tony told her, and she smiled sweetly at him. "And I'm not completely dependent; I can do things on my own."

"Mm," Pepper agreed absently. "Is that why you're arm got stuck in the wrong sleeve while putting on your shirt the other day?"

Tony blushed crimson and had no response, instead going on to explain, "now, we need to impress this girl, because Peter loves her and is head over heels for her and we need to start prepping."

"When is she coming?" Bruce asked, and Tony looked at his watch.

"Oh, I'd say-" he paused, narrowed his eyes and peered closer at his watch, "right about-"

_"Mr. Stark,"_ JARVIS's said, sounding a little confused, "_A Ms. Gwen Stacy is here to see Mr. Parker and the rest of the Avengers, Sir."_

If Peter could find it in himself to be angry at Tony, he would have been. But he was so genuinely excited that all he could do was exclaim, "Gwen!" And skip down the stairs to meet her, dodging the tabby cat- who'd been lounging by the stairwell door- in the process.

The last thing he heard before the door closed was Natasha's cool voice asking: "Tony, since when do we have a cat?"

* * *

_This whole chapter literally just became all about Peter skipping_

_I'm sorry about that_

_How was George Stacy written? I'm a little nervous about how I handled his personality..._

_Anyways, thank you for reading, please leave me a comment on your thoughts, and I'll see y'all next week!_


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